What is Indigenous Knowledge?: Voices from the Academy (Garland Reference Library of Social Science)

WHAT IS INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE? INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND SCHOOLING VOLUME 2 GARLAND REFERENCE LIBRARY OF SOCIAL SCIENCE ...

Author: Ladislau Semali

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WHAT IS INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE?

INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND SCHOOLING VOLUME 2 GARLAND REFERENCE LIBRARY OF SOCIAL SCIENCE VOLUME 1191

INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND S CHOOLING J OE L.K INCHELOE

AND

L ADISLAUS S EMALI, S ERIES E DITORS

EDUCATION, MODERN DEVELOPMENT, AND INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE An Analysis of Academic Knowledge Production by Seana McGovern

WHAT IS INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE? Voices from the Academy edited by Ladislaus M.Semali and Joe L.Kincheloe

W HAT IS I NDIGENOUS K NOWLEDGE ? V OICES FROM THE A CADEMY

E DITED BY L ADISLAUS M .S EMALI J OE L . K INCHELOE

F ALMER P RESS A MEMBER OF THE T AYLOR N EW Y ORK AND L ONDON 1999

&

F RANCIS G ROUP

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2002. Copyright © 1999 by Ladislaus M.Semali and Joe. L.Kincheloe All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data What is indigenous knowledge?: voices from the academy/edited by Ladislaus M.Semali and Joe L.Kincheloe. p. cm.—(Garland reference library of social science; v. 1440. Indigenous knowledge and schooling; v. 2) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 0-8153-3157-6 (alk. paper).—ISBN 0-8153-3452-4 (pbk.: alk. paper) 1. Ethnoscience. I. Semali, Ladislaus, 1946– . II. Kincheloe, Joe L. III. Series: Garland reference library of social science; v. 1440. IV Series: Garlnd reference library of social science. Indigenous knowledge and schooling; v. 2. GN476.W47 1999 99–11975 306.4'2–dc21 CIP ISBN 0-203-90680-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-90758-2 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-8153-3452-4 (Print Edition)

In memory of Martha J.Semali and Elizabeth B.Kincheloe mothers and indigenous women whose wisdom we have grown to cherish

Table of Contents Preface Decolonizing Indigenous Knowledge Donaldo Macedo

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Chapter One Introduction: What is Indigenous Knowledge and Why Should We Study It? Ladislaus M.Semali and Joe L.Kincheloe

3

Chapter Two 59 Indigenous Knowledge and Schooling: A Continuum Between Conflict and Dialogue Mahia Maurial Chapter Three 79 Indigenous Knowledge as a Component of the School Curriculum June M.George Chapter Four 95 Community as Classroom: (Re)Valuing Indigenous Literacy Ladislaus M.Semali Chapter Five Science Education in Nonwestern Cultures: Towards a Theory of Collateral Learning Olugbemiro J.Jegede

119

Chapter Six 143 Indigenous Knowledge, Indigenous Learning, Indigenous Research Jill Abdullah and Ernie Stringer

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Table of Contents

Chapter Seven 157 Indigenous Knowledge Systems— Ecological Literacy Through Initiation into People’s Science Madhu Suri Prakash Chapter Eight Indigenous Knowledge and Ethnomathematics Approach in the Brazilian Landless People Education Gelsa Knijnik

179

Chapter Nine Indigenous Music Education in Africa Clemente K.Abrokwaa

191

Chapter Ten The Inseparable Link Between Intellectual and Spiritual Formation in Indigenous Knowledge and Education: A Case Study in Tanzania R.Sambuli Mosha

209

Chapter Eleven Indigenous Languages in the School Curriculum: What Happened to Kiswahili in Kenya? Lucy Mule

227

Chapter Twelve Indigenous Knowledge Systems for an Alternative Culture in Science: The Role of Nutritionists in Africa Robert K.N.Mwadime

243

Chapter Thirteen Agricultural Extension Education and the Transfer of Knowledge in an Egyptian Oasis Anne M.Parrish

269

Chapter Fourteen Indigenous People’s Knowledge and Education: A Tool for Development Rodney Reynar

285

Table of Contents Chapter Fifteen Local Knowledge Systems and Vocational Education in Developing Countries Consuelo Quiroz

ix 305

Chapter Sixteen 317 Indigenous Knowledge, Historical Amnesia and Intellectual Authority: Deconstructing Hegemony and the Social and Political Implications of the Curricular “Other” Frances V.Rains Chapter Seventeen Indigenous Knowledge: An Interpretation of Views from Indigenous Peoples Marcel Viergever

333

About the Editors and Contributors

361

Index

367

PREFACE

Decolonizing Indigenous Knowledge Donaldo Macedo Ladislaus Semali and Joe L.Kincheloe’s edited book What is Indigenous Knowledge?: Voices from the Academy not only exposes the fault lines of modernist grand narratives but it also illuminates, in a vivid and direct way, what it means to come to subjectivity in the margins, where subordinated cultural beings struggle to make sense and “understand themselves in relationship to their natural environment and how they organize [their] folk knowledge of flora and fauna cultural beliefs, and history to enhance their issues.” What is striking about Semali and Kincheloe’s edited book is the ever-present intellectual challenge to readers to avoid falling prey, on the one hand, to a blind romanticism with indigenous knowledge and, on the other hand, to a poisonous paternalism characterized by a form of “charitable racism [which] revolts as soon as the [indigenous people] demand [their] union rights.”1 Through critical and rigorous analyses, the authors of What is Indigenous Knowledge?: Voices from the Academy navigate a “dangerous terrain” by carefully deconstructing the very western nomenclature, “indigenous,” which is characterized by “representations [that] have evoked condescension from Western observers and elicited little appreciation for the insight and understanding of indigeneity might provide.” The brilliance of this edited book lies on the authors’ understanding that a global comprehension of indigenous knowledge cannot be achieved through the reductionistic binarism of Western versus indigenous knowledge. The essence of indigenous knowledge is found in the experience of the colonized which is never restricted to Third World and other “tribal” contexts. As the authors of What is Indigenous Knowledge?: Voices from the Academy so succinctly point out, the colonized experience is also found in the concentration camps

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What is Indigenous Knowledge?

without barb wires that abound within First World in the form of ghettos, rural mountains of Appalachia, and Indian reservations. In fact, no longer can it be argued that the colonized experience is the domain of Third World contexts only. For one thing, we are experiencing a rapid Third Worldization of North America with its insidious neo-colonization where, for example, inner cities resemble more and more the shanty-towns of the Third World with a high level of poverty, violence, illiteracy, human exploitation, and human misery. The abandonment of our inner cities as well our rural areas (the Appalachian mountains, for instance,) and the exponential decay of their respective infrastructures, including their schools, makes it very difficult to maintain the artificial division between the first and the Third World. It is just as easy to find “Third Worldness” in the First world inner cities and the mountains of Appalachia as it is to discover First World opulence in the oligarchies in El Salvador, Guatemala, and many Third World nations. The Third Worldization of North America is painfully experienced in the large scale human exploitation produced by the incipient colonialism inherent in the policies of neo-liberalism. What Semali and Kincheloe’s edited book makes clear is that both First and Third World contexts continue to share a common feature: The interconnected relationship between the colonizer and the colonized. This is expressed in the fracturing of cultural souls whereby, according to Gloria Anzaldua, “El Anglo con cara de inocente nos arranco la lengua”2 (The Anglo with the innocent face has yanked our tongue), thus sentencing colonized cultural beings to a silenced culture: “Ahogados, escupimos el oscuro. Peleando con nuestra propia sombra el silencio nos sepulta.”3 (Drowned, we spit darkness. Fighting with our very shadow we are buried by silence). Chicanos and Chicanas, like other linguistic and cultural minorities in the United States share the painful experience recounted by Semali: Then, I went to school, a colonial school, and this harmony was broken. The language of my education was no longer the language of my culture. I first went to Iwa Primary school. Our language of education was not Kiswahili. My struggle began at a very early age constantly trying to find parallels in my culture with what was being taught in the classroom. In school we followed the British colonial syllabus. The books we read in class had been written by Mrs. Bryce, mostly adapted and translated into Kiswahili from British curricula. We read stories and sung songs about having tea in an English garden, taking a ride on the train, sailing

Preface

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in the open seas, and walking the streets of town. These were unfortunately stories far removed from our life experiences. As expected, we memorized them even though they were meaningless. By the time I was in fifth grade Swahili was no longer the medium of instruction. English had taken over and Kiswahili was only a subject taught once a week. Kichagga was not to be spoken at any time and if caught speaking we were severely punished. Thus, one of the most humiliating experiences was to be caught speaking Kichagga while still in the school grounds. The culprit was given corporal punishment-three to five strokes of the cane on the buttocks.

The expression “And then I went to school” is a common experience throughout the world, including First World democracies like the United States where bilingualism and multiculturalism are under a constant assault by the Western cultural commissars. Whether we feel the pain of Anzaldua’s tongue being yanked in the United States or Ngugi’s lament for the loss of Gikuyu language in Africa, the colonized experience is the same: We therefore learnt to value words for their meaning and nuances. Language was not a mere string of words. It had a suggestive power well beyond the immediate and lexical meaning. Our appreciation of the suggestive magical power of language was reinforced by the games we played with words through riddles, proverbs, transpositions of syllabes, or through nonsensical but musically arranged words. So we learnt the music of our language on top of the content. The language, through images and symbols, gave us a view of the world, but it had a beauty on its own. The home and the field were then our pre-primary school but what is important for this discussion, is that the language of the evening teach-ins, and the language of our work in the field were one. And then I went to school, a colonial, school, and this harmony was broken. The language of my education was no longer the language of my culture.4

Reading What is Indigenous Knowledge and Why Should We Study It? reminded me of the striking similarities in the mechanisms of oppression found both in open democratic societies and the so-called Third World countries where the yoke of colonialism is part and parcel of an agonizing reality. Many educators will object to the use of the term “colonialism” to characterize the colonized experience in the United States. However, as a colonized person who experienced first-hand the discriminatory practices of Portuguese, I can readily see many similarities between the colonial ideology and the dominant values that inform oppressive conditions in the United States,

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particularly with respect to subordinated groups. Colonialism imposes “distinction” as an ideological yardstick against which all other cultural values are measured. On the one hand, this ideological yardstick serves to overcelebrate the dominant group’s values to a level of mystification, and on the other hand, it devalues other cultural expressions. It is for this reason that Portuguese colonialism tried to eradicate all manifestations of African culture by forbidding the use of African languages in institutional life and by inculcating Africans through the educational system with myths and beliefs concerning the “savage” nature of their cultures. If we analyze closely the ideology that informs the present debate over bilingual education—spearheaded by the conservative English Only Movement—and the present polemic over the privacy of Western heritage versus multiculturalism, we can begin to see and understand that the ideological principles that sustain those debates are consonant with the structures and mechanisms of a colonial ideology as succinctly described: Culturally, colonialism has adopted a negation to the [native culture’s] symbolic systems, forgetting or undervaluing them even when they manifest themselves in action. This way, the eradication of past and the idealization and the desire to relive the cultural heritage of colonial societies constitute a situation and a system of ideas along with other elements situate the colonial society as a class.5

If it were not for the colonial legacy, how could we explain the U.S. educational policies in the Philippines and Puerto Rico? English was imposed as the only language of instruction in the Philippines, and the imposed American textbook presented the American culture not only as superior but as a “model par excellence for the Philippine society.”6 This type of miseducation was so prevalent that it led T.H.Pardo de Tavera, a collaborator in the U.S. colonialism, to write a letter to General Douglas MacArthur: After Peace is established all our efforts will be directed to Americanizing ourselves, to cause a knowledge of the English language to be extended and generalized in the Philippines, in order that through its agency we may adopt its principles, its political customs, and its peculiar civilization that our redemption may be complete and radical.7

Preface

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It is the same complete and radical redemption that the United States hoped to achieve in Puerto Rico when Theodore Roosvelt’s commissioner of education in Puerto Rico, Roland M.Faulkner, mandated in 1905 that instruction in public schools had to be conducted in English and made Puerto Rican schools “agencies of Americanization in the entire country, and where [schools] would present the American ideal to our youth. Children born under the American soil should have constantly present this ideal, so that they can feel proud of their citizenship and have the flag that represents the true symbol of liberty.”8 If our colonial legacy remains unexamined, our ability to fully understand and appreciate indigenous knowledge will evoke us to the extent that our minds, if not our hearts, will remain colonized. It is only through the decolonization of our minds, if not our hearts, that we can begin to develop the necessary political clarity to reject the enslavement of a colonial discourse that creates a false dichotomy between Western and indigenous knowledge. It is through the decolonization of our minds and the development of political clarity that we cease to embrace the notion of Western versus indigenous knowledge, so as to begin to speak of human knowledge. It is only through the decolonization of our hearts that we can begin to humanize the meaning and usefulness of indigeneity. The authors of What is Indigenous Knowledge?: Voices from the Academy make a convincing case that enables us to understand how the present neo-colonial discourse of the present world order not only enhances the privileged social and cultural positions of the neocolonizers (neo-liberals, for example) but it also undermines our aspiration for a radical cultural democracy. The understanding of our colonial legacy would enable us not only to reconnect with our historical past but it would also illuminate our dangerous present historical juncture as Renato Constantino so eloquently suggests: We see our present with as little understanding as we view our past because aspects of the past which could illuminate the present have been concealed from us. This concealment has been effected by a systematic process of miseducation characterized by a thoroughgoing inculcation of colonial values and attitudes-a process which could not have been so effective had we not been denied access to the truth and to be part of our written history. As a consequence, we have become a people without a sense of history. We accept the present as given, bereft of historicity. Because we have so little comprehension of our past, we have no appreciation of its meaningful interrelation with the present.9

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Endnotes 1. Albert Memmi. (1967). The Colonizer and the Colonized. Boston: The Beacon Press, p. 76. 2. Gloria Anzaldua. (1987). Borderlands: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute, p. 203. 3. Ibid p. 203. 4. Ngugi Wa Thiong’o. (1986). Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature. New Hampshire: Heinemann Press, p. 11. 5. Renato Constantino. (1978). Neocolonial Identity and Counter Consciousness. London: Merlin Press, p. 66. 6. Ibid. p. 66 7. Ibid. p. 67. 8. Maria M.Lopez Lagunne. (1989). Bilingualismo en Puerto Rico: Actitudes Sociolinguisticas del Maestro. San Juan: M.I.S.C.E.S., Crp., p. 17 9. Renato Constantino (1978). Neocolonial Identity and Counter Consciousness. London: Merlin Press, p. 1.

WHAT IS INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE?

CHAPTER ONE

Introduction: What is Indigenous Knowledge and Why Should We Study It? Ladislaus M.Semali and Joe L.Kincheloe The term, indigenous, and thus the concept of indigenous knowledge has often been associated in the Western context with the primitive, the wild, the natural. Such representations have evoked condescension from Western observers and elicited little appreciation for the insight and understanding indigeneity might provide. But for others, especially the millions of indigenous peoples of Africa, Latin America, Asia, and Oceania, indigenous knowledge (or what others have called the native ways of knowing) is an everyday rationalization that rewards individuals who live in a given locality. In part, to these individuals, indigenous knowledge reflects the dynamic way in which the residents of an area have come to understand themselves in relationship to their natural environment and how they organize that folk knowledge of flora and fauna, cultural beliefs, and history to enhance their lives. This book examines the social, cultural, and political issues that surround indigeneity and focuses on the benefits to be derived from the inclusion of indigenous knowledge in the academy. Such a task, however, will not be accomplished easily. Indigenous knowledge is an ambiguous topic that immediately places analysts on a dangerous terrain. Not only are scholars unsure what we’re talking about, but many analysts are uncertain who should be talking about it. As the editors of this book, we are acutely aware of these complex dynamics and the threats they present. Nevertheless, we perceive the benefits of the study of indigenous knowledge sufficiently powerful to merit the risk. We find indigenous knowledge to be intellectually evocative— useful for a variety of purposes in a plethora of contexts. It is this multi-dimensional usefulness that we and the authors of the various

4


chapters of this book will address, as we attempt to provide insights into the questions proposed by the title. The provocative questions put forward here challenge us from the start to define indigenous knowledge. The dilemma we face in defining indigenous knowledge and what it means in the context of millions of indigenous peoples of the world is central to the postmodern and postcolonial debates on the origins of knowledge and the manner in which it is produced, archived, retrieved and distributed throughout the academy. For about three years, these questions have preoccupied the members of the Interinstitutional Consortium for Indigenous Knowledge (ICIK) based at the Pennsylvania State University. Founded in 1995, this inter-collegiate, interdisciplinary Working Group has debated the merits and other common interest issues in indigenous knowledge and its relevance to the areas of teaching, research, and extension. The Working Group has received sponsorship through the colleges of Education and Agricultural Sciences at Penn State to sponsor monthly seminars and a series of events through which to explore the possibility of establishing a Center for Indigenous Knowledge in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. ICIK is one among over 50 growing networks of indigenous knowledge resource centers that serve as local clearinghouses. Most of these centers are national in scope and serve an important networking function for individuals from many different disciplines and professions who may be scattered across the institutional landscape. National resource centers also serve to protect intellectual property rights to knowledge that could be used for the benefit of the country. A number of the indigenous knowledge centers, particularly The International Center for Indigenous Knowledge for Agriculture and Rural Development (CIKARD), located at Iowa State University, and two centers located in the Netherlands, are more global in their scope. Through the leadership of these centers, a worldwide field of study is emerging with its own publication, The Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor. For ICIK members, a Commonwealth Center for Indigenous Knowledge serves to link Pennsylvania’s many institutions of higher education with the knowledge base that is unique to the communities of the Commonwealth by providing a variety of services such as: • engaging in the validation of indigenouss knowledge.

Introduction • •

• • • •

• •

•

• •

5

producing new research methods for studying indigenous knowledge. giving students and faculty both the methodologies for recording indigenous knowledge and the tools for using it effectively (e.g., curriculum materials, courses, lecture series, research projects involving faculty, graduate, and undergraduates students). promoting diversity by valuing the ways-of-knowing that are characteristic of various cultures. promoting interdisciplinary, participatory research and cooperative problem-solving between communities and academic institutions. enhancing locally-appropriate development efforts in the Commonwealth. enhancing the internationalization of the curriculum of academic institutions by giving faculty and students ready access to a global network of indigenous knowledge resource centers. identifying and compiling resources. increasing teacher awareness of indigenous knowledge through a worldwide integrated database and the National Association for Science, Technology and Society. providing teacher training programs in Pennsylvania with methods which demonstrate how to use both local and scientific knowledge to make decisions about natural resource use and the environment. providing a linkage to Science, Technology and Society educational programs. encouraging interaction between indigenous epistemologies and western epistemologies for the purpose of finding new methods to produce knowledge.

These goals and ideas were put to a public forum discussion at the first ICIK conference held in April 1996 at the Penn State campus with the theme: Indigenous Knowledge and its role in the academy. In the following year, a second conference was held in April 1997 to follow up on the first. The debates in these two conferences focused on the epistemological and practical questions emerging from the notion of indigenous knowledge and how it is valued and used in the community. One outcome of such gatherings was that educators, scientists, and students came to the realization that indigenous knowledge does not exist in a vacuum and that it belongs to a community, and access to this knowledge is gained through contact with that community.

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The idea of having conferences on indigenous knowledge was troubling to some people both from the theoretical and practical sense. On the one hand, it was troubling because of the prevailing idea that knowledge cannot be owned by one community and that suggesting boundaries to knowledge was a futile enterprise. These doubts led to questions like: Can knowledge be local? Can a community own a knowledge system? How is knowledge produced in an indigenous community? Is there a role of indigenous knowledge in the academy? In what ways can indigenous knowledge be integrated in the academy without devaluing one system over the other? What are the political, social, cultural, and academic ramifications? Can we interface African folk wisdom popularly found in African and African American communities, or indigenous healing practices, health enhancement therapies, nutrition and food practices, genetic diversification, livestock production, and agricultural practices with new technological developments in the academy’s laboratories? Does culture have anything to do with how knowledge is produced and distributed in the academy? How can we preserve or promote indigenous knowledge without threatening it to extinction? On the other hand, raising these challenging questions was an important opportunity to expose the arguments on both sides. Inspired by Agenda 21 of the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Kakonge, 1995), some ICIK members were not easily swayed or disheartened by the deluge of unanswered questions. It was important to realize that some of the members were descendants of indigenous communities while others had worked with indigenous people in many parts the world. From their experience, they knew that indigenous peoples make choices about the environment they live in—an environment which has been for centuries the source of food, water, medicine, and other natural resources that sustain them and their families; they know what is valuable knowledge and what is not; they know from their own life experiences through trial and error how to treat disease, tend livestock, manage aquatic resources, provide health therapies, and how to preserve and pass on such local knowledge from one generation to the next. The ICIK conferences provided opportunity for discipline related groups to engage in frank, in-depth, and serious dialogue. An examination of the function of knowledge was deemed necessary and a close scrutiny of how it is produced in the academy at the expense of indigenous systems and how the academy trains its own scientists

Introduction

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was now open to critique. Educators, sociologists, economists, agriculturalists, rural development specialists, and others were willing to study the issues. Their resolve was to increase and improve the study and understanding of indigenous knowledge systems around the world, both in-and outside of the academy. Thus, the presentations in this volume are attempts to implement this resolve. Each chapter provides insights into one of the many complex domains of indigenous knowledge. As we begin our foray into indigenous cultures and their knowledges, it is important for us to map our positionalities and the reasons we have chosen to undertake this work. We are scholars from different parts of the world and products of profoundly diverse cultures; yet, we are bound together by an interesting set of political, pedagogical, moral, and even cultural similarities. These similarities point to the problems engendered by essentialistic reliance upon macro-social proclamations. Culture as it plays out in the intersection of the macroand micro-social aspects of lived reality too often confounds easy categorization—a point that keeps emerging throughout this book. We joke that we are both hillbillies, albeit of an African Kilimanjaro and a southern U.S. Appalachian variety. A brief biographical statement that positions us both in relation to the issues addressed is in order. Locating Ourselves My African Origins I (Ladi) was born on the slopes of the Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. The more than one million people who reside on Mount Kilimanjaro share a similar history and culture. They occupy closely spaced homesteads extending between the elevations of 2,000 and 4,000 feet above sea level, on the southern slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. In pre-independence Tanzania (then known as Tanganyika), the population in the Kilimanjaro region was divided into about 30 distinct chiefdoms (or territories). First the Germans, and later the British, consolidated these systems into a few administrative units by setting up the paramount chief (Mangi Mkuu) as a native ruler of the Wachagga of Kilimanjaro. German missionaries established the first schools on Mount Kilimanjaro in the late nineteenth century and introduced the Chagga people to the cash economy and to the techniques of coffee cultivation, a farming technique that was borrowed from other colonial territories at the time. By the early 20th century, education was an important way for

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the Chagga people to enter the expanding political economy and an important way for chiefs to redefine their political power. I grew up in a large peasant family: father, mother, and ten siblings. I also belonged as we all did, to a broader extended family of uncles, aunts, cousins, and to the village community as a whole. We spoke Kichagga as we worked in the fields. We spoke Kichagga in and outside the home. I can remember vividly those evenings of storytelling around the fireside. On many occasions in full moon we sang, danced, and competed with voices from across the valley that sung from the top of their voices way into the dead of night. Each night had a different song and a different dance. The colorful stories told every night in song and narration, with mostly animals as the main characters were all told in Kichagga. In many fables, riddles and proverbs were weaved into many of these stories as lessons to be learned. I remember the hare, being small, weak, but full of innovative wit and cunning, was our hero. We identified with him as he struggled against the brutes of prey, both large and small, like the lion, leopard, jackal, and hyena. His victories were our victories and as was often reinforced by my grandmother at her fireside, we learnt that the apparently weak can outwit the strong. We followed the animals in their struggle against hostile nature—drought, rain, sun, wind—a confrontation often forcing them to search for forms of cooperation. But we were also interested in their struggles amongst themselves, and particularly between the beasts and the victims of prey. These twin struggles, against nature and other animals, reflected real life struggles in the human world. Not that we neglected stories with human beings as the main characters. Often my grandmother recounted episodes from her own youth, how they were mistreated by the Europeans during World War I, how hard they worked in the fields, and how they had to tattoo their bodies so as to avoid being taken as slaves. Cooperation as the ultimate good in a community was a constant theme. It could unite human beings with animals against beasts of prey. We therefore learnt many lessons through stories, ceremonies, symbolism, and also learned to value words for their meaning and nuances. From my elders, I learnt the music of our language on top of the content. The language, through images and symbols, gave us a view of the world, but it had a beauty of its own. The home and the fields, were then my “pre-primary” school. But what is important for this discussion is that our immediate and wider community, and the language of work in the fields, were one. Each part of the natural world is hitched to the universe—connected to all other parts of nature. Therefore, language

Introduction

9

was not a mere string of words. It had a suggestive power well beyond the immediate and apparent meaning. It carried the lesson. Our appreciation of the suggestive magical power of language was reinforced by the games we played with words through riddles, proverbs, transpositions of syllables, or songs. These lessons readily illustrated in simple personal life stories, recollections, and memories, formed part of the indigenous education, history, and one of multiple ways of knowing passed on from the generations of my grandmother and father to us. The lessons provided a powerful new sense of identity. I recall vividly the many days I accompanied my mother and father to go to work in the maize (corn) fields. I listened to them telling stories about their youth and about their challenges in life. My mother never passed the opportunity to alert me about the different plants which were treatments for snake-bites, spider bites, and many other remedies for headache, stomachache, and so on. My father often warned me to remember not to cut certain trees or shrubs for feeding the animals. He would explain how poisonous and deadly such grass would be to our livestock. All this information was learned effortlessly and stored in memory as a way of survival in a wild and cruel terrain. Then, I went to school, a colonial school, and this harmony was broken. The language of my education was no longer the language of my culture. I first went to Iwa Primary School. Our language of education was now Kiswahili. My struggle began at a very early age constantly trying to find parallels in my culture with what was being taught in the classroom. In school we followed the British colonial syllabus. The books we read in class had been written by Mrs. Bryce, mostly adapted and translated into Kiswahili from British curricula. We read stories and sung songs about having tea in an English garden, taking a ride on the train, sailing in the open seas, and walking the streets of town. These were, unfortunately, stories far removed from our life experiences. As expected, we memorized them even though they were meaningless. By the time I was in fifth grade Swahili was no longer the medium of instruction. English had taken over and Kiswahili was only a subject taught once a week. Kichagga was not to be spoken at any time and if caught speaking it we were severely punished. Thus, one of the most humiliating experiences was to be caught speaking Kichagga while still on the school grounds. The culprit was given corporal punishment—three to five strokes of the cane on the buttocks. And how did the teachers catch the culprits? A wooden button with the word “English” curved into both its sides was

10


initially given to one pupil who was supposed to hand it over to whoever was caught speaking Kichagga or Kiswahili. Whomever had the button at the end of the day would have to say who had given it to him and the ensuing process would bring out all the culprits of the day. Thus children were turned into witch hunters and in the process were being taught the lucrative value of being a traitor to one’s immediate community. It is important to note here that the English language was highly rewarded. It was the measure of intelligence and ability in the humanities, the sciences, and all the other branches of learning. English became the main determinant of a child’s progress and one of the criteria for promotion up the ladder of formal education. Oral literature in Swahili or Kichagga stopped. In secondary school I read Gulliver’s Travels, Dickens, Oliver Twist and Huckleberry Finn, and later my knowledge in literature grew more sophisticated as I got introduced to Chaucer, T.S.Eliot, with a touch of the Latin version of Virgil. The new stories in English literature competed and replaced in classrooms many traditional stories about land, mother earth, water sources, good behavior, respect for elders, the environment, and so on. The introduction of fables into schools from outside intentionally interrupted indigenous knowledge. The new and “superior” knowledge preferred the morals, customs, and ways of knowing brought by missionaries as well as colonial rulers who colonized many of the indigenous peoples of Africa. Traditional stories were ignored and despised by emphasizing a European or missionary moral position. Through imported books, a particular European-centered literacy education was introduced to us in schools at a very early age. A eurocentric knowledge system, therefore, attempted to replace local practices, history, language, and cultural values while claiming that such replacement was vital because of the claim made that many indigenous communities did not have written languages. What is often overlooked in such claims is that the dissemination of books and other literacy materials was done and continues to be done not entirely for altruistic reasons but also for economic and political reasons intended to erase and subjugate indigenous knowledge systems. For my grandfather and grandmother and their siblings, literacy, particularly oral literacy, was the main vehicle for communication. The most sophisticated court systems existed in their time and complex cases were juried and judicated. Through oral means, important information was passed on from one generation to the next. Knowledge systems about the traditional institutions of customary law, land tenure systems, inheritance rights, and rituals, were guarded and preserved

Introduction

11

not through western writing systems but through stories, legends, folklore, fairy tales, trickster tales, and in some occasions, petrographic art. These were important devices which ensured the survival of the Chagga people and other societies for many years. In some communities these devices have withstood time and are still used along with dances, drumming, symbols, rituals, or celebrations. These rich oral devices are, however, disappearing. Today, when I look back as a young man born on the slopes of the Kilimanjaro, I find many contradictions in my attempts to make sense of my youth and what I teach at the university. In my reflections, I find many contradictions emerging, especially in the notions of representation, local education, citizenship, literacy education, and democracy, to name a few. Even though I speak English fluently now, my maternal language of Kichagga has not been valued or rewarded for the resource it provides to the thought processes I generate everyday. This language has been despised and ranked next to useless in the domain of world languages even though it is spoken by nearly a million people. Jumping on the bandwagon of ignoring local languages such as my own is tantamount to succumbing to power dynamics operating to subjugate knowledge systems of marginal people. This dynamic leads us to the easy lure and acquiescence of representing the “natives’” point of view, thus speaking for them. I recall when working in East Africa in the 1980s, I met several western colleagues coming to meetings from the Sudan, Ethiopia, Malawi, and Zambia. When asked why they did not come with nationals from those countries, they were quick to answer that there was nobody capable to travel or speak English well enough to participate at these meetings, insinuating that many of those who could come were illiterate. But when I raised the possibility of having translators, I was squashed that it would be too expensive an enterprise. What seemed to be overlooked in this exchange was the fact that I saw an unfortunate situation where nationals were not adequately represented, where individuals “speaking for” the indigenous peoples, tend towards generalizations, simplifications, or half-truths. At community level, the testimony of individual voices reveals the experience of hidden groups, and counters the bias of those who speak for or ignore them. This outlook has the capacity to break down generalizations and misinformation about communities, their economies, needs, power structures, social organization, and goals (Slim & Thompson, 1993). The claims made by European “discoverers,” “explorers,” and “missionaries” that the indigenous

12


peoples of East Africa and other parts of the world are primitive, illiterate, and uncivilized because of not having a written language, have outlived several counter claims lashed out by indigenous peoples in protest of eurocentric worldviews which exclude indigenous peoples’ ways of knowing, characterized by a central reference to notions of modernization and development. At the center of the modernization and development theories is the imposition of the definition of literacy as authoritative, logical, and universal. The dilemmas and contradictions I face as an instructor at a prestigious American university centers around the conflict with my understanding of the world and the way I function in it. Presenting modernization and development theories to my students as a “better” way of life, rather than one of many possible courses of cultural evolution, is troublesome. I must constantly caution myself and realize that literacy is defined in a certain way to support one path of development while ignoring all others. In fact, such definition is arbitrary, ambiguous, and conventional to a European tradition within a context of power relations. Imposing a certain literacy, particularly school literacy, aims to control the masses as to what they learn to fit the needs of the industrial workplace, and sets up a standard by which to reward and privilege those who embrace its curriculum. Because of the underlying ideologies of literacy education, there continues to be, therefore, a tension between what indigenous people consider important skills for the community and what school sanctions as curriculum. For the indigenous peoples of the Kilimanjaro, there is as it were two parallel curricula a child must learn: one that provides the skills to function in the traditional society and another one which imparts the skills to function in the global community. Such skills may include language, appropriate behavior (manners, etiquette, etc.), dress, comportment, and so forth. Mastering these skills is important for the indigenous person to survive. These two curricula represent two worldviews, two epistemologies, two consciousnesses that a Chagga person must constantly grapple with in order to survive in the world of capitalism and global economy. To the extent that “indigenous” has meaning today in a global context, it is derived from an historical colonial relationship between indigenous peoples and European conquerors. The European project of incorporating resources into a global economic system controlled by nation-states has necessitated programs aimed at the cultural assimilation of indigenous peoples—their cultural destruction and subsequent “re-education.” In the eyes of many

Introduction

13

indigenous peoples of the world, literacy education, as defined in the European context, is seen in effect as part of the curriculum of “reeducation.” My U.S. Connections I (Joe) grew up in rural Tennessee in the southern Appalachians. My parents, both raised in rural mountain farm families in the early part of the twentieth century, gave birth to me in their forties. My late arrival connected me historically to a period that existed prior to many of the social and technological changes of the twentieth century. My parents had emerged in a setting where mountain culture had been sheltered from numerous aspects of what has been described as modernism. While my parents became increasingly acquainted with the changes of modernity, I came of age in a very poor rural mountainous area where many families still lived in relative cultural isolation. It was my interaction with my peers from these isolated backgrounds and my parents’ connection to a historical indigeneity that raised my consciousness about the cultural conflicts emerging around me and within me. There was no doubt that a persisting form of local knowledge still existed in rural Sullivan County, Tennessee in the 1950s. My schoolmates held varying degrees of it. Some were well-versed and quite adept at employing it in a variety of contexts. I vividly recall my friend Larry taking me on walks in the forested foothills of the mountains. Never getting lost even at the age of six, Larry would point out to me the medicinal uses of the roots and leaves of various plants. “My grandmother told me,” he would say, “how you can boil this root and drink the broth when you get a cold. You can use these leaves to make a dressing for bad burns.” I was fascinated by Larry’s knowledge of the local flora and the confidence with which he shared his treasured knowledge. It was a powerful education. My consciousness of the contradictions of indigenous knowledge and the cultural dynamics that surrounded it was immediately raised when Larry and I encountered school. Here was Larry, my indigenous knowledge tutor and young pathfinder in the woods, in an alien cultural setting. Larry’s was an oral knowledge. His parents had finished about six grades of school and were not readers—indeed, I had never seen reading material in his home. On the other hand, my parents understood the importance of language and print literacy. They had even constructed a small library in our home and pressured me to read all the books in it. The confident and talented Larry was stymied by the demands of

14


school. As with most indigenous knowledge, his understanding of the mysteries of the woods was irrelevant in the modernist school. His unacquaintance with written language placed him in a disempowered position since almost everything that transpired in school depended upon it. I remember my surprise when Larry shaken and perplexed asked me what exactly the teacher wanted us to do. Given his cultural position, he was unable to decipher the purpose of the classroom proceedings. Suddenly, our roles were reversed: I was the tutor, Larry the student. As the weeks passed, it became increasingly apparent that in school Larry was “not intelligent.” Of course, I did not have the words to name the phenomenon or the intellect to fully understand it, but I knew intuitively that something was disturbing about this contradiction. How could an individual, I asked, be so smart in one context and be deemed so “dumb” in another. As I matured, this and associated questions haunted me. I began to read the reductionistic anthropology texts that issued gross generalizations about various ethnic groups including southern Appalachian Mountain people. It slowly began to dawn on me that I was in part at least a member of this grouping. Described as backward, unambitious, inbred, and “difficult to work with in institutions,” southern Appalachians were represented as an embarrassment to the American value of progress. Such adolescent experiences helped me forge connections between my understanding of Larry’s and other poor mountain students’ educational failures and the dominant culture’s debased view of them. I began to understand my father’s peculiarly southern Appalachian and insightful resistance to the modernist bureaucracies growing around him. He shared with me his humorous “take” on the ways bureaucrats addressed him “in role” as formal, low affect civil functionaries, rather as yet another primary relationship in the everyday commerce of rural life. To the day he died, he never understood the impersonal secondary interactions of modernist institutions. It was in part through my father’s humorous deconstructions of bureaucracies and bureaucrats that I came to intuitively understand and reject the depersonalization, the rationality, and the social regulation of modernism and its institutions. Such appreciations were both emotional and intellectual and were central to my choice of lifestyle and career. As the counterculture emerged in the 1960s with its critique of the Western modernist project, I was drawn to it. The Frankfurt School’s critique of Enlightenment rationality resonated so profoundly

Introduction

15

with my outsider’s perspective on mainstream American culture. My oppositional stance to the “irrational rationalities” of the Western scientific and academic traditions attuned me to the epistemological and pedagogical alternatives offered by my Appalachian peers and various non-Western peoples around the world. In closing this personal section it is important to note that I am not claiming indigeneity. My Tennessee mountain upbringing was not indigenous but there were indigenous dynamics within it. I understand my privilege as a white male and the potential for the appropriation of indigeneity that such a position possesses. Employing such a reflective awareness, I attempt to monitor my relationship with indigenous culture and indigenous knowledge throughout this book. Drawing Upon the Transformative Power of Indigenous Knowledge A central tenet of this book involves our belief in the transformative power of indigenous knowledge, the ways that such knowledge can be used to foster empowerment and justice in a variety of cultural contexts. A key aspect of this transformative power involves the exploration of human consciousness, the nature of its production, and the process of its engagement with cultural difference. As Paulo Freire and Antonio Faundez (1989) argue, indigenous knowledge is a rich social resource for any justice-related attempt to bring about social change. In this context indigenous ways of knowing become a central resource for the work of academics whether they be professors in the universities or teachers in elementary and secondary schools. Intellectuals, Freire and Faundez conclude, should “soak themselves in this knowledge…assimilate the feelings, the sensitivity” (p. 46) of epistemologies that move in ways unimagined by most Western academic impulses. We find it pedagogically tragic that various indigenous knowledges of how action affects reality in particular locales have been dismissed from academic curricula. Such ways of knowing and acting could contribute so much to the educational experiences of all students; but because of the rules of evidence and the dominant epistemologies of Western knowledge production, such understandings are deemed irrelevant by the academic gatekeepers. Such an observation reflects the heart and soul of What is Indigenous Knowledge? Our intention is to challenge the academy and its “normal science” with the questions indigenous knowledges raise about the nature of our existence, our

16


consciousness, our knowledge production, and the “globalized” future. Some indigenous educators and philosophers put it succinctly: we want to use indigenous knowledge to counter Western science’s destruction of the earth. Indigenous knowledge can facilitate this ambitious twenty-first century project because of its tendency to focus on relationships of human beings to both one another and to their ecosystem. Such an emphasis on relationships has been notoriously absent in the knowledge produced in Western science over the last four centuries (Dei, 1994; Keith & Keith, 1993; Simonelli, 1994). The stakes are high, as scholars the world over attempt to bring indigenous knowledge to the academy. Linking it to an educational reform that is part of a larger socio-political struggle, advocates for indigenous knowledge delineate the inseparability of academic reform, the reconceptualization of science, and struggles for justice and environmental protection. As Anne Parrish argues in her chapter here, an understanding of indigenous agricultural knowledge may be necessary to any successful twenty-first century effort to feed the world. The work that has taken place in the field of American Indian Studies over the past couple of decades grants other advocates of indigenous knowledge a lesson in how such academic operations can be directly linked to political action. American Indian Studies scholars use their indigenous analyses to inform a variety of Native American legal and political organizations including the Indian Law Resource Center, The National Indian Youth Council, the World Council of Indigenous Peoples, the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations, to mention only a few. In indigenous studies, such as the Native American academic programs, emerging new political awarenesses have been expressed in terms of the existence of a global Fourth World indigeneity. Proponents of such a view claim that Fourth World peoples share the commonality of domination and are constituted by indigenous groups as diverse as the Indians of the Americas, the Innuits and Samis of the Arctic north, the Maori of New Zealand, the Koori of Australia, the Karins and Katchins of Burma, the Kurds of Persia, the Bedouins of the African/Middle Eastern desert, many African tribal peoples, and even the Basques and Gaels of contemporary Europe. In this context it is important to avoid the essentialistic tendency to lump together all indigenous cultures as one, yet at the same time maintain an understanding of the nearly worldwide oppression of indigenous peoples and the destruction of indigenous knowledges. We will address this complex dynamic throughout the book, pointing to the constant need for awareness of the ambiguous theme in

Introduction

17

all academic and political work involving indigenous peoples and their knowledges (Hess, 1995; Jaimes, 1987). As complex as the question of indigeneity may be, we believe that the best interests of indigenous and non-indigenous peoples are served by the study of indigenous knowledges and epistemologies. An appreciation of indigenous epistemology, for example, provides Western peoples with another view of knowledge production in diverse cultural sites. Such a perspective holds transformative possibilities, as they come to understand the overtly cultural processes by which information is legitimated and delimited. An awareness of the ways epistemological “truth production” operates in the lived world may shake the Western scientific faith in Cartesian-Newtonian epistemological foundationalism, as well as the certainty and ethnocentrism that often accompany it. Indeed, in such a metaepistemological context Westerners of diverse belief structures and vocational backgrounds may experience a fundamental transformation of both outlook and identity, resulting in a much more reflective and progressive consciousness. Such a consciousness would encounter the possibility that the de/legitimation of knowledge is more a socio-political process than an exercise of a universal form of disinterested abstract reason. In this context the Western analyst confronts the need to reassess the criteria for judging knowledge claims in light of the problems inherent in calling upon a transcultural, universal faculty of reason. Questioning and even rejecting absolute and transcendent Western reason does not mean that we are mired forever in a hell of relativism. One of the concepts Western analysts have learned in their encounters with non-Western knowledge systems is that Western certainty cannot survive, that the confrontation with difference out of necessity demands some degree of epistemological contingency. Universality cannot escape unscathed in its encounter with socio-cultural, epistemological particularity, just as Newtonian physics could not survive the Einsteinian understanding of the power of different frames of reference. In these anti-foundational (a rejection of a transcultural referent for truth such as the Western scientific method) dynamics the hell of relativism is avoided by an understanding of culturally-specific discursive practices. For example, the indigenous knowledge produced by the Chagga people in Tanzania can be both true and just in relation to the discursive practices of the Chagga culture. The Chagga criteria for truth make no claim for universality and would not feign to determine truth claims

18


for various other cultural groups around the world. Thus, Chagga truth as a contingent, local epistemology would not claim power via its ability to negate or validate knowledge produced in non-Chagga cultures. Such an epistemological issue holds profound social and political implications, for it helps determine the power relations between diverse cultural groups. Culture A certainly gains an element of domination over Cultures B and C, if it can represent its knowledge as transcendent truth and Cultures B and C’s knowledge as a “superstition.” In this reconceptualized, anti-foundational epistemological context analysts must consider the process of knowledge production and truth claims in relation to the historical setting, cultural situatedness, and moral needs of the reality they confront. Such understandings don’t negate our ability to act as political agents, but they do force us to consider our political and pedagogical actions in a more tentative and culturally informed manner. We no longer in this new reconfigured context have the privilege of simply turning to the authority of “civilization” the for validation of the “unqualified methods of truth production.” Such a position removes some simplistic certainty, but at the same time provides great possibility for Western and indigenous people to enter into a profound transformative negotiation around the complexity of these issues and concepts. Studying Indigenous Knowledge for Transformation: Serving the Interests of Indigenous People The transformation of Western consciousness vis-â-vis its encounter with indigenous knowledges takes on much of its importance in relation to a more humble and empathetic Western perspective toward indigenous peoples and their understandings of the world. Such a new perspective will manifest itself in a greater awareness of neo-colonialism and other Western social practices that harm indigenous peoples. It will be the responsibility of social and political activists all over the world to translate these awarenesses into concrete political actions that benefit indigenous people. While in no way advocating that Western peoples speak and act for indigenous peoples, it is important for indigenous peoples to have informed allies outside their local communities. Such allies can play an important role in helping indigenous peoples deal with the cultural, psychological, and environmental devastation of colonialism. In the Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire), for example, before the advent of Western colonialism local peoples lived in what has been described

Introduction

19

as a “cereal civilization.” In this agricultural society individuals sowed grain in a land that could easily support good harvests. When the European colonists arrived, however, they destroyed the land to the point that it could no longer sustain the cereal way of life (Freire and Faundez, 1989). With their land and their civilization in shambles, what were the indigenous peoples to do? In this case and many others, Westerners cannot simply say, “let the Congolese tribesmen reclaim and redeploy their indigenous agricultural and social practices and solve their problems in their own way.” Traditional knowledge has been lost and worldviews have been shattered. Questions of cultural renewal and indigenous knowledge are not as easy as some represent them to be. In these (yet again) complex circumstances we examine the ways the knowledge studies advocated here can facilitate indigenous peoples’ struggle against the ravages of colonialism, especially its neo-colonialist articulation in the domains of the political, economic, and pedagogical. Scholars conversant with the transformative dynamics of the epistemological insights emerging from the critical confrontation with indigenous ways of seeing will be far less likely to formulate, for example, anthropological studies of indigeneity in traditional unreflective ways. One of the criteria for anthropological studies in a reconceptualized Western social science would involve the relevance and benefits of the work for the indigenous group studied. In this reconceived anthropology research methodologies could be adjusted to account for the interests of indigenous subjects. An important aspect of such a transformed social science would involve the pedagogical task of affirming indigenous perspectives, in the process reversing the disaffirmations of the traditional Western social scientific project. Operating in this manner social scientists could make use of a variety of previously excluded local knowledges (Sponsel, 1992). Such knowledges could be deployed to rethink the meaning of development in numerous locales where various marginalized peoples reside. Using such knowledges indigenous peoples—with the help of outside political allies to facilitate their fight against further neo-colonial encroachments— could move closer to the possibility of solving their problems in their own ways. The possibility of some magical return to an uncontaminated pre-colonial past, however, does not exist. Thus, the use of indigenous knowledge as the basis of local problem solving strategies will always have to deal with the reality of colonization, not to mention the effects of the economic globalization that will continue to challenge indigenous peoples in the twenty-first century. Resistance to such powerful neo-

20


colonial movements will need all the transformative knowledges and political allies it can get. Dangers of Western Interventions into the Problems of Indigenous Peoples Western scholars and cultural workers concerned with the plight of indigenous peoples and their knowledges are faced with a set of dilemmas. Not only must they avoid essentialism and its accompanying romanticization of the indigene, but they must sidestep the traps that transform their attempts at facilitation into further marginalization. Walking the well-intentioned road to hell, Western scholars dedicated to the best interests of indigenous peoples often unwittingly participate in the Western hegemonic process. The question: how can the agency, the self-direction of indigenous peoples be enhanced? must constantly be asked by Western allies. What is the difference between a celebration of indigenous knowledge and an appropriation? Too often Western allies, for example, don’t simply want to work with indigenous peoples—they want to transform their identities and become indigenous persons themselves. As a teacher and researcher on the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, I (Joe) watched this “wanabe” phenomenon play out on numerous occasions. As white allies worked out their identity crises in the indigenous cultural context, they appropriated not only the cultural styles of the Sioux but many times claimed their “oppression capital”—the “status” of marginality among proponents of social justice. Such a vampirism sucked the blood of indigenous suffering out of the veins of the Native Americans, in the process contributing little to the larger cause of social justice. The only struggle in which many of these vampires engaged was a personal quest for a new identity. Sioux leaders recognized this tendency and in our conversations referred to it as “playing Indian.” Such an activity was viewed by tribal members with contempt and condescension. The Sioux like other indigenous peoples understood the dangers of Western “help”—the question must be asked, is the study of indigenous peoples and their knowledges in itself a process of Europeanization? In some ways, of course, it is, as Western intellectuals conceptualize indigenous knowledge in contexts far removed from its production. In other ways, however, Western intellectuals have little choice; if they are to operate as agents of justice, they must understand the dynamics at work in the world of the indigene. To refuse to operate out of fear of Europeanization reflects a view of

Introduction

21

indigenous culture as an authentic, uncontaminated artifact that must be hermetically preserved regardless of the needs of living indigenous people (Ashcroft, Griffiths, & Tiffin, 1995; Howard, 1995). The process of Europeanization with its colonialistic perspectives toward indigenous knowledge continues to operate despite both insightful and misguided attempts to thwart it. In this context ethnocentric Western science claims a value for indigenous ways of seeing as an “ethnoscience.” Western scientists maintain that much can be learned from a number of ethnosciences including ethnobotany, ethnopharmacology, ethnomedicine, ethnocosmology, and ethnoastronomy. The concept discursively situates indigenous knowledge systems as ways of knowing that are culturally grounded, simultaneously representing Western science as “not culturally grounded” or transcultural and universal. Thus, in the process of ascribing worth to indigenous knowledge, such analysis implicitly relegates it to a lower order of knowledge production. Also, to speak of indigenous knowledge systems in Western terms such as botany, pharmacology, medicine, etc., is to inadvertently fragment knowledge systems in ways that subvert the holism of indigenous ways of understanding the world (Hess, 1995). In this Western gaze, indigenous knowledge is tacitly decontextualized, severed of the cultural connections that grant it meaning to its indigenous producers, archived and classified in Western databases, and eventually used in scientific projects that may operate against the interests of indigenous peoples. All of this takes place in the name of Western scientific concessions to the importance of the information generated by local peoples. Arun Agrawal (1995) labels this archival project as ex situ conservation—a process that removes it from peoples’ lives. Such indigenous knowledge is always changing in relation to the changing needs of its producers, ex situ conservation destroys the dynamic quality of such information. Despite their overt valorization of indigenous knowledge, these Western scientific archivists refuse to accept the worthiness of “raw” indigenous knowledge— upon collection Western scientists insist on testing its validity via Western scientific testing. As Marcel Viergever argues in his chapter, this archival project and the scientific validation that accompany it illustrate the Western disregard of the need to protect and perpetuate the cultural systems that produce dynamic indigenous knowledge. In this context the Western proclamations of valorization ring hollow.

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Studying Indigenous Knowledge: Grappling with Essentialism We continue to struggle with the problems inherent in the study of indigenous knowledge. How do we deal with the understandable tendency within indigenous studies to lapse into essentialism? Before answering that question a brief discussion of essentialism is in order. Essentialism is a complex concept that is commonly understood as the belief that a set of unchanging properties (essences) delineate the construction of a particular category—for example, indigenous people, African Americans, white people, women, etc. Addressing the problem of essentialism is a complex but necessary step in the study of indigenous knowledge; while there is no problem examining indigenous people/knowledge as a discrete category, we must always be careful to avoid racial or ethnic designations that fail to discern the differences between people included in a specific category. Cultural anthropology in its traditional effort to name and categorize indigeneity has produced a notion of essentialist authenticity that is now difficult to question. In an indigenous context this essentialist authenticity involves a semiotic (code) of the prehistoric. Such a signification inscribes indigeneity as a historical artifact far removed from contemporary life. Activities or identities, thus, that fall outside of this narrow backward-looking classification are deemed unauthentic, impure, or phony. Indigenous knowledge in this essentialist configuration is caught in the prehistoric, stationary, and unchanging web that is ever separate from non-indigenous information. Indigeneity in this context becomes romanticized to the point of helpless innocence. Paulo Freire and Antonio Faundez (1989) warn us that our appreciation of indigenous peoples and their knowledges must avoid the tendency for romanticization. When advocates for indigenous peoples buy into such romanticization, they often attempt to censor “alien” presences and restore the indigene to a pure precolonial cosmos. Such a return is impossible, as all cultures (especially colonized ones) are perpetually in a state of change. The Aborigines of Australia, for example, were profoundly influenced by Indonesian peoples and vice versa. The premise that indigenous peoples were isolated from the rest of the world until European conquest and colonization is a myth that must be buried along with other manifestations of essentialist purity (Hall, 1995; Ashcroft, Griffiths, & Tiffin, 1995; Goldie, 1995; Agrawal, 1995; Pieterse & Parekh, 1995; Mudrooroo, 1995).

Introduction

23

Without such a burial indigenous cultures are discouraged from shifting and adapting and indigenous knowledges are viewed simply as sacred relics fixed in a decontextualized netherland. Any study of indigenous knowledge in the academy must allow for its evolution and ever changing relationship to Eurocentric scientific and educational practice. The essentialized approach undermines this relational dynamic as it encodes indigeneity as freedom/nature and European culture as culture/reason—here, no room for dialogue exists. Our examination of indigenous knowledge attempts to enlarge the space for such dialogue, denying the assertion of many analysts that European and indigenous ways of seeing are totally antithetical to one another. These cultural and epistemological issues are complex and our concern is to avoid essentialist solutions by invoking simplistic binary oppositions between indigeneity and colonialism. Once the binary opposition is embraced we have to choose one and dismiss the other—not only indigeneity and colonialism but local knowledge or academic knowledge. In this dichotomous mode either everything academic is of no worth, or from the other way of seeing, everything indigenous is primitive. The either-or approach leaves little room for dialogue, little space to operate. Counter-essentialist views of indigenous knowledge understand the circulation of culture, the reality of “contamination.” In postmodern anthropology, for example, cultures are no longer seen as self-contained social organisms but as interrelated networks of localities. In such an anthropology the cultural position of the observer helps construct the description of such cultural dynamics. The focus of the ethnographies produced in this context moves away from finite cultural systems operating in equilibrium to networks shaped and reshaped by boundary transgressions. If the emphasis is on transgressions, then no one is culturally pure. Western knowledge, for example, reaches indigenous peoples in a variety of ways from mass communications to developmental projects. In this increasingly globalized world transnational population movements, refugee Diasporas, and multinational capital infusions disrupt traditional cultural systems. Another aspect of the essentialist demarcations concerning indigeneity involves the assertion of a fixed and stable indigenous identity. In this book we maintain that all identities are historically constructed, always in process, constantly dealing with intersections involving categories of status, religion, race, class, and gender. Such a position is conceptually unsettling, we admit, with its denial of the possibility of some final freedom from the cultural ambiguities that

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shape consciousness and subjectivity. If all of this were not enough, we question the essentialist assertion that there is a natural category of “indigenous persons.” Indeed, there is great diversity within the label, indigenous people. The indigenous cultural experience is not the same for everybody; indigenous knowledge is not a monolithic epistemological concept. In this context the uncomfortable problem of cultural hybridity emerges. We will discuss this dynamic in more detail later, but suffice it to say here many advocates of indigenous knowledge resent the use of the term, hybridity, and find it inappropriate in indigenous studies. Concerned with the use of indigenous knowledge in education, we use our counter-essentialist understandings to argue that there is no unitary indigenous curriculum to be factually delivered to students in various locations. Not everyone who identifies with a particular indigenous culture produces knowledge the same way nor do different indigenous cultures produce the same knowledges. Even after delineating counter-essentialist arguments, however, we still believe that the study of indigenous knowledge is valuable and that there may be some common threads running through many indigenous knowledge systems. A central feature of our work with indigenous knowledge in the academy involves exploring the political and curricular implications of the ways many indigenous cultures: 1) relate to their habitat in ways that are harmonious; 2) have been conquered by a modernist nation state; and 3) provide a perspective on human experience that differs from Western empirical science (Appiah, 1995; Hess, 1995; Apffel-Marglin, 1995; Hall, 1995; Dei, 1994; Jaimes, 1987). These features tell us that indigenous knowledge deserves analysis on a global level with particular attention directed to the epistemological patterns that emerge in a variety of cultural contexts. Such studies, we believe, are often so powerful that new understandings of the world appear and reinterpretations of “the way things are” materialize. Similarities between African, Native American, Chinese, and even feminist views of the relationship between self and world provide us with fascinating new ways of making sense of realities and compelling topics for inter-cultural conversations (Kloppenberg, 1991). Our counter-essentialist imperatives must always be understood within the framework of our valuing the diverse perspectives of indigenous peoples and our understanding of the continuing marginalization of their cultures and their perspectives. Indigenous studies may be problematic and complex, but educators will be well served to examine

Introduction

25

its provocative themes in light of the Western Enlightenment project and its pedagogical expressions. Addressing the Colonial Science of the West: Indigenous Knowledge and the Critique of Epistemological Hegemony From our vantage point in the web of reality we see various ways that Western science is deployed as a tool of oppression. While understanding progressive uses of Western science and the complexity of its sociopolitical role, we emphasize in this context the problematic nature of Western science and its power saturated relationship with indigenous knowledge. Western modernism has often understood the experience of various “others,” including the indigenous other, from a narrow Eurocentric perspective. The story of the Scientific Revolution in Europe itself is framed in the ethnocentric West-is-best discourse of colonialism. The irony of the story is that Western science is not an essentialized European achievement, as knowledge interchanges between Europe and various non-Western cultures had taken place for hundreds of years preceding the Western Enlightenment. Scientific and technological ideas and inventions traditionally attributed to the West include, for example: • • •

China—magnetic science, quantitative cartography, cast iron, the mechanical clock, and harnesses for horses. Polynesia—knowledge of navigation and sea currents. Aboriginal peoples—knowledge of flora and fauna of Australia (Scheurich & Young, 1997; Hess, 1995; Baker, 1996).

Defining Modernism Drawing upon a plethora of cultural knowledges, Western ways of producing “validated” certainties began to develop. During the European Middle Ages science was grounded on a Thomas-Aristotelian synthesis of faith and reason. The main goal of the synthesis was to understand the nature of natural phenomena. But when the Black Death swept across Europe, killing about one-quarter of the population, many realized that the medieval way of seeing was inadequate. Under the pressure of such catastrophic sickness, Western scholars began contemplating a new way of perceiving the natural world—a way that would enable them to understand and control the outside world (Leshan and Margenau, 1982; Fosnot, 1988).

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With the coming of the Scientific Revolution, or the Age of Reason, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, nature was to be controlled, “bound into service and made a slave” (Capra, 1982, 56). The basis of this control was founded on the epistemological separation of knower and known. This bifurcation legitimates the assumption that the human perceiver occupies no space in the known cosmos; existing outside of history, the knower knows the world objectively. Thus, knowers are untainted by the world of opinions, perspectives, or values. Operating objectively (without bias), the knower sets out on the neutral mission of science: the application of abstract reasoning to the understanding of the natural environment. Reason told the pioneers of science that complex phenomena of the world can be best understood by reducing them to their constituent parts and then piecing these elements back together according to laws of cause and effect (Mahoney & Lyddon, 1988). All of this took place within Renée Descartes’s separation of mind and matter, his cogito ergo sum. This view led to a conception of the world as a mechanical system divided into two distinct realms: (a) an internal world of sensation; and (b) an objective world composed of natural phenomena. Building on the Cartesian dualism, scientists argued that laws of physical and social systems could be uncovered objectively by researchers operating in isolation from human perception, with no connection to the act of perceiving. The internal world of mind and the physical world, Descartes theorized, were forever separate and one could never be shown to be a form of the other (Lowe, 1982; Lavine, 1984; Kincheloe, 1991). We understand now, but could not have understood then, that this division of mind and matter had profound and unfortunate consequences. The culture’s ability to address problems like the plague undoubtedly improved, as the power to control the “outside” world advanced. At the same time, however, Western society accomplished very little in the attempt to comprehend its own consciousness, its “inner experience,” the realm of the social and cultural. Sir Isaac Newton extended Descartes’s theories with his description of space and time as absolute regardless of context. Clarifying the concept of cause and effect, Newton established modernism’s tenet that the future of any aspect of a system could be predicted with absolute certainty if its condition was understood in precise detail and the appropriate tools of measurement were employed. Thus, the CartesianNewtonian concept of scientific modernism was established, with its centralization, concentration, accumulation, efficiency and fragmentation. Bigger became better as the dualistic way of seeing

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reinforced a rationalistic patriarchal expansionist social and political order welded to the desire for power and conquest. Such a way of seeing served to despiritualize and dehumanize, as it focused attention on concerns other than the sanctity of humanity (Fosnot, 1988). Along with Sir Francis Bacon, who established the supremacy of reason over imagination, Descartes and Newton laid a foundation that allowed science and technology to change the world. Commerce increased, nationalism grew, human labor was measured in terms of productivity, nature was dominated, and European civilization gained the power to conquer in a way previously unimagined. The rise of modernist science was closely followed by a decline in the importance of religion and spirituality. An obsession with progress supplied new objectives and values to fill the vacuum left by the loss of religious faith. Even familial ties were severed as the new order shifted its allegiance to the impersonal concerns of commerce, industry, and bureaucracy (Bohm & Peat, 1987; Aronowitz and Giroux, 1991). Rationality was deified, and around the scientific pantheon the credo of modernity was developed: the world is rational (logocentric) and there is only one meaning of the term. All natural phenomena can be painted within the frame of this monolithic rationality whether we are studying gunpower, engines, dreams, or learning. This modernist view of knowledge, this one-truth epistemology, affected all aspects of Western life, all institutions. Education was no exception. Since knowledge (like a child’s conception of pre-Columbian North America) is predefined, waiting to be discovered “out there,” what use is it to teach speculative and interpretative strategies? Schools of the post-Enlightenment era emphasized not the production of knowledge but the learning of that which had already been defined as knowledge. Students of modernism’s one truth epistemology are treated like one-trick ponies, rewarded only for short-term retention of certified truths. Teachers learn in their “educational science” courses that knowledge is acquired in a linear skill or subskill process. Preidentified in the context of adult logic, the linear process is imposed on children in a manner that focuses teacher/parent attention away from the child’s constructions of reality, away from the child’s point of view. Thus, children’s answers are often “wrong,” when, actually given their point of view, the wrong answer may indicate ingenuity (Brooks, 1984). Indeed, a pattern begins to emerge: many of the children who get the wrong answers consistently fall outside the cultural norm of whiteness, maleness, and middle-or upper-middle classness.

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Even though it may blind us to various aspects of the social world and unfairly punish indigenous and other peoples who fall outside mainstream Western societies, the epistemology of modernism continues to deploy its power. Seduced by its claim to neutrality, scientists and educators employ Cartesian-Newtonian epistemology in their quest for the “higher ground” of unbiased truth. The ideal modernist educator becomes the detached practitioner, an independent operator who rises above the values of “special interest.” The detached practitioner occupies a secure position immune from critique—he or she has, after all, employed the correct methodology in reaching his or her position. If it is pursued “correctly,” there is no questioning the authority of the scientific method. Thus, the educational status quo is protected from critics both inside and outside Western culture. Operating in a strict empirical context such critiques can be dismissed as not scientific, as mere opinions (Codd, 1984; Harris, 1984). As we write this book on indigenous knowledge, we witness around us a retrenchment of many Westerners’ commitment to modernist ways of seeing. Reacting to threats of social changes, the criticisms of indigenous spokespeople, calls for race, class, and gender justice, and scholarly analyses of the failures of modernism, neo-conservatives and liberals have sought to deflect criticism by educational and political appeals to a new-Cartesianism. Such forces will undoubtedly attack our analysis of indigenous knowledge as merely one more example of “irrationality,” of a “return to a new Dark Age,” of “barbarians at the gate of civilization.” We hope they can get beyond their invective to a careful reading of what happens when indigenous and academic knowledges engage in a dialogue. Such a process, we believe, holds dynamic possibilities. In the following pages we will focus our attention on the social and political aspects of these epistemological issues. Western science, like any system of knowledge production, constructs or makes the world it studies and describes. Epistemologies emerge from the cultural experiences of particular groups, not as an unexpected vision on the road to Damascus. Thus, this Western modernist way of producing knowledge and constructing reality is one of a multitude of local ways of knowing—it is a local knowledge system that denies its locality, seeking to produce not local but translocal knowledge. Such knowledge is true regardless of context and is the product of the process known as Cartesian reductionism. Here problems are broken down into isolated components, examined separately from one another, categorized, and pronounced “true.” This validation provides with

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high status such knowledge which is used to wield power over people without access to such knowledge. When these processes occur Western science promotes a hierarchical and linear form of knowledge production, dismissing questions of context that provide information with meaning and potential application. Questions concerning the cultural assumptions implicit in the production and use of such knowledge are not deemed important in such a process (Kloppenberg, 1991; Scheurich and Young, 1997; Freire and Faundez, 1989). Power and Scientific Colonialism The denigration of indigenous knowledge cannot be separated from the oppression of indigenous peoples. Indeed, modernist science, anthropology in particular, has been deployed as a weapon against indigenous peoples. The Bureau of American Ethnology produced knowledge about Native Americans that was used to better control their behavior, exploit their labor, and confiscate their land and resources. Indeed, modernist science not only shapes the consciousness of those who operate within its pedagogical orbit, but it also helps determine the social, political, and economic conditions of the contemporary world. Whether we feel philosophically comfortable with it or not, it is a powerful force at work both at the macro-structural level and the everyday micro-dynamics of our lives. We maintain that a key aspect of anyone’s education involves an understanding of this socio-political role of science. Without such an understanding we may be blind to the role of science as an instrument of colonialism (Sponsel, 1992; Levine, 1996). A key to comprehending the power of Western science involves its ability to depict its findings as universal knowledge. Modernist science produces universal histories, defines civilization, and determines reality: such capabilities legitimate particular ways of seeing and, concurrently, delegitimate others. Such an ability is imperialistic, as it operates to characterize indigenous knowledges as inadequate and inferior. Too often in the mainstream philosophical study of epistemology these power-related features of knowledge production are ignored. Epistemology, such scholars contend, is a philosophical issue—nothing more. They fail to appreciate the ways modernist scientific universalism excludes “white science” as a cultural knowledge, a local way of seeing. Ethno-science, like ethnicity itself, falls within the category of otherness. Indeed, whiteness itself took shape around the European Enlightenment’s notion of scientific rationality with its privileged

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construction of a transcendental, universal, white, male subject who operated at the recesses of power—even in this central position he gave the impression of escaping the confines of time and space (Ashcroft, Griffiths, & Tiffin, 1995). In this context whiteness was naturalized as a universal entity that operated as more than a mere ethnic positionality emerging from a particular time, the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and a particular space, Western Europe. Reason in this historical configuration is whitened and human nature itself is grounded upon this Cartesian reasoning capacity. Lost in the defining process in the socially constructed nature of scientific reason itself, not to mention its emergence as a signifier of whiteness. Thus, in its rationalistic womb whiteness begins to establish itself as a norm that represents an authoritative, delimited, and hierarchical mode of thought. In the emerging colonial contexts in which whites would increasingly find themselves in the decades and centuries following the Enlightenment, the encounter with non-whiteness would be framed in rationalistic terms—whiteness representing orderliness, rationality, and self-control and non-whiteness as chaos, irrationality, violence, and the breakdown of self-regulation. Rationality emerged as the conceptual base around which civilization and savagery could be delineated (Giroux, 1992; Alcoff, 1995; Keating, 1995). This rationalistic modernist whiteness is shaped and confirmed by its close association with science. As a scientific construct whiteness privileges mind over body, intellectual over experiential ways of knowing, mental abstractions over passion, bodily sensations, and tactile understanding. In the study of indigenous knowledge such epistemological tendencies take on dramatic importance. In educators’ efforts to understand the forces that drive the curriculum and the purposes of Western education, modernist whiteness is a central player. The insight it provides into the social construction of schooling, intelligence, and the disciplines of psychology and educational psychology in general opens a gateway into white consciousness and its reactions to the world around it. These Western rationalistic dynamics of whiteness as a colonial impulse were well articulated by Sir Francis Bacon in his ruminations on the scientific method. Bacon conceptualized science as an entity that would “bind” nature and reduce her to a slave. As a slave she could perform useful services for Europeans. This dominant-submissive relationship between scientist and nature is reproduced in the colonial relations between European and indigene, in the power relations

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between universal and local knowledge. Such political dynamics have been rarely addressed in the literature of Western scholarship. Of course, great anger is elicited when non-Western or Western analysts point out the assumptions of Western superiority, racial hierarchy, and colonial relationships inscribed in Cartesian epistemologies. Since such assumptions are seen as natural or even God-given, critics who expose their social construction and ethnocentrism are viewed as enemies of the Western “regime of truth” or of the culture itself. Thus, as students of indigenous knowledge we engage in a critique of Western epistemological tyranny and the oppressive educational practices that follow it. Western epistemological tyranny decrees that the reality constructed by Cartesian-Newtonian ways of seeing is the only reality worth discussing in academic settings. Knowledge in this context becomes centralized and the power to produce knowledge is concentrated in the hands of a limited power bloc. In this process one begins to understand that science is the most powerful cultural production of Western society. The knowledge Western science produced became the benchmark by which the productions of nonWestern civilizations were measured. In this context Europeans by the late seventeenth century became increasingly condescending toward the “primitive” knowledges of other cultures. Such perceived primitivism justified the civilizing efforts of the white man’s burden and the pedagogical dynamics embedded in the concept (Harding, 1996; Hess, 1995; Dei, 1994; Jegede, 1994). Indigenous Knowledge as Subjugated Knowledge While operating at a far more subtle and sanitized manner in the late twentieth century, this epistemological tyranny still operates in the academy to undermine efforts to include other ways of knowing and knowledge production in the curriculum. The power issues here are naked and visible to all who are to look: the power struggle involves who is allowed to proclaim truth and to establish the procedures by which truth is to be established; it also involves who holds the power to determine what knowledge is of most worth and should be included in academic curricula. In this context the notion of indigenous knowledge as a “subjugated knowledge” emerges to describe its marginalized relationship to Western epistemological and curricular power. The use of the term, subjugated knowledge, asserts the centrality of power in any study of indigenous knowledge and any effort to include it in the academy. Despite all the debates about what constitutes

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indigenous knowledge and separates it from scientific knowledge, one constant emerges: all indigenous knowledge is subjugated by Western science and its episteme (its rules for determining truth). Regardless of in what area of the world it is found, indigenous knowledge has been produced by peoples facing diseases brought by European cultures, attempts at genocide, cultural assimilation, land appropriation, required emigration, and education as a colonial tool. Because of such oppressive process, indigenous knowledge has, not surprisingly, often been hidden from history. It is our desire to become researchers of such repressed knowledges, to search out what Western and Western-influenced academics have previously neglected, to recover materials that may often work to change our consciousness in profound ways. When Western epistemologies are viewed in light of indigenous perspectives, Western ways of seeing, Western education cannot remain the same. Analyzing these power dynamics surrounding indigenous knowledge in her essay in this book, Gelsa Knijnik warns of their complexity and the need for the student of indigenous knowledge to explore the many ways power operates in the interactions of indigeneity, science, and epistemology. In the reconceptualized academic curriculum that we imagine indigenous/subjugated knowledge is not passed along as a new canon but becomes a living body of knowledge open to multiple interpretations. Viewed in its relationship to the traditional curriculum, subjugated knowledge is employed as a constellation of concepts that challenge the invisible cultural assumptions embedded in all aspects of schooling and knowledge production. Such subjugated knowledge contests dominant cultural views of reality, as it informs individuals from the white, middle/upper middle class mainstream that there are different ways of viewing the world. Indeed, individuals from such backgrounds begin to realize that their textbooks and curriculum have discarded data produced by indigenous peoples. The white dominant cultural power blocs that dominate Western societies at the end of the twentieth century seem oblivious to the need to listen to marginalized people and take their knowledge seriously. Western power wielders are not good at listening to information that does not seem to contribute to hegemony, their ability to win the consent of the subjugated to their governance. Knowledge that emerges from and serves the purposes of the subjugated is often erased by making it appear dangerous and pathological to other citizens (Dion-Buffalo and Mohawk, 1993). Thus, critical multicultural teachers devoted to the value of subjugated knowledges uncover those dangerous memories that are

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involved in reconstructing the process through which the consciousness of various groups and individuals has come to be constructed. Such an awareness frees teachers, students, and other individuals to claim an identity apart from the one forced upon them. Indeed, identity is constructed when submerged memories are aroused—in other words, confrontation with dangerous memory changes our perceptions of the forces that shape us, which in turn moves us to redefine our worldviews, our ways of seeing. The oppressive forces that shape us have formed the identities of both the powerful and the exploited. Without an analysis of this process we will never understand why students succeed or fail in school; we will be forever blind to the tacit ideological forces that construct student perceptions of school and the impact such perceptions have on their school experiences. Such blindness restricts our view of our own and other people’s perception of their place in history, in the web of reality. When history is erased and decontextualized, teachers, students, and other citizens are rendered vulnerable to the myths employed to perpetuate social domination. Indigenous/Subjugated Knowledge and the Academic Curriculum The following is an outline of the educational benefits to be gained from an analysis of academic practices vis-â-vis indigenous/subjugated knowledge. The study of such knowledges: 1. PROMOTES A RETHINKING OF OUR PURPOSES AS EDUCATORS. An understanding of indigenous ways of seeing as a subjugated knowledge alerts us to the fact that there are different ways of seeing the world. With this understanding in mind it becomes apparent that school and university curricula privilege particular views of the world. Those who hold Western views of the world and value them over all others are often deemed “intelligent” by modernist methods of measuring intellectual capabilities. According to twentieth-century Western educational psychology and cognitive science, the way of knowing ascribed to “rational man” constitutes the highest level of human thought. This rationality or logic is best exemplified in symbolic logic, mathematics and scientific reasoning. With the birth of modernity (the Age of Reason) and its scientific method in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, scientific knowledge became the only game in town. In this context individuals can be represented in a dramatic new form—as abstracted entities

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? standing outside the forces of history and culture. This abstract individualism eclipsed the Western understanding of how men and women are shaped by larger social forces that affect individuals from different social locations in different ways. Western society was caught in a mode of perception that limited thinking to concepts that stay within white, Western, logocentric boundaries, far away from the “No Trespassing” signs of indigeneity. As academics begin to uncover these hidden values embedded in both prevailing definitions of intelligence and our scientific instruments that measure it, they embark on a journey into the excitement of a pedagogy that takes indigenous knowledges seriously. As they begin to search for forms of intelligence that fall outside traditional notions of abstract reasoning, they come to appreciate the multiple forms of intelligence that different individuals possess. In this context academic analysts become detectives of intelligence, searching the world for valuable ways of making sense of the world. Operating this way educational purpose cannot remain static, as academics explore the relationship between differing epistemologies and the knowledges they support. The purpose of schools no longer simply involves the transmission of validated Western information from teacher to student. Instead, a more compelling form of analysis is initiated with teachers engaging students in the interpretation of various knowledges and modes of knowledge production.

2. FOCUSES ATTENTION ON THE WAYS KNOWLEDGE IS PRODUCED AND LEGITIMATED. As we have maintained throughout this introduction, the study of indigenous knowledges we advocate is concerned with the process of knowledge production. Such an awareness is too often absent in Western education. In mainstream pedagogies we are taught to believe that the knowledge we consider official and valid has been produced in a neutral, noble, and altruistic manner. Such a view dismisses the cultural and power-related dimensions of knowledge production. Knowledge of any form will always confront other knowledge forms. When this happens a power struggle ensues; the decisions made in struggles between, for example, indigenous as opposed to Eurocentric views of colonialism, exert dramatic but often unseen consequences in schools and the political domain. For example, the role of the academic as a neutral transmitter of prearranged facts is not understood as a politicized role accompanying

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knowledge production. If schools are to become places that promote teacher and student empowerment, then the notion of what constitutes politicization will have to be reconceptualized. Battle with texts as a form of research, Ira Shor and Paulo Freire (1987) exhort educators. Resist the demand of the official curriculum for deference to texts, they argue in line with their larger critically grounded political vision. Can it be argued that capitulation to textual authority constitutes a political neutrality? In this indigenously-informed curriculum educators and their students come to appreciate the need to analyze what they know, how they come to know it, why they believe or reject it and how they evaluate the credibility of the evidence. Starting at this point, they begin to understand the social construction of knowledge and truth. In school, for example, they recognize that the taken-forgranted knowledge that are taught do not find justification as universal truth. Instead, they appreciate the fact that the purveyors of such information have won a long series of historical and political struggles over whose knowledge and ways of producing knowledge is the best. Thus, educators are able to uncover the socially created hierarchies that travel incognito as truth. Though everyone knows their nature, these hierarchies mask their “shady” backgrounds of political conflict. As truth, they are employed as rationales for cultural dominance and unequal power relations. With these dynamics in mind consider this example of knowledge production in mathematics. Mathematics is typically taught as a deductively produced, pre-existing body of knowledge that is definitely European. A form of Western elitism permeates math teaching that considers mathematical discovery and knowledge production emerging only from a rigorous application of “deductive axiomatic logic.” Western math has traditionally dismissed African or certain Asian mathematical forms as “childlike” and “primitive.” Contemporary “ethnomathematicians” have successfully countered these ethnocentric arguments with empirical data pointing to the sophistication of these alternative, non-Western forms of math knowledge—a subjugated knowledge of math. In the reconceptualized curriculum we advocate math students learn the different ways diverse cultural groups might define “logic.” A group of Western anthropologists were studying a group of African tribal people they had labeled primitive. Testing their intelligence in relation to set theory, the scientists asked them to

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? sort twenty objects that fell into four categories: food, clothing, tools, and cooking utensils. The researchers were checking to see if the people had the intelligence to group the objects “properly.” Instead of making four groups, the Africans made ten. Basing their sorting on what they considered practical connections among the objects (e.g., grouping a knife with an orange because it cuts it), the “primitive” people claimed that this was the way a wise person would group the articles. When researchers asked how a fool would do it, the people provided the “correct” answer, making four neat piles with food in one, tools in another, etc. Thus, one set of meanings, one form of knowledge, one path to cognitive sophistication is chosen as true. Studies of African mathematical thinking are not inserted into the curriculum, therefore, simply to study something (anything) non-European; they are added as a way of expanding not only the definition of rationality, intelligence, and problem-solving, but as a means of understanding the effects of unexamined knowledge production. Without the addition and integration of such subjugated knowledge forms into the cultural and institutional curriculum, nothing challenges the mainstream Western assumption that tribal Africans are intellectually inferior. Indeed, using a bizarre set of psychometric manipulations, Richard Herrnstein and Charles Murray (authors of The Bell Curve) concluded that Africans who live in Africa possess an average IQ of 75 (Frankenstein & Powell, 1994; Herrnstein and Murray, 1994). Studies such as the anthropology of African mathematics are important not simply because they illustrate quaint cultural differences, but because they expose the role of power of knowledge production in situations. Often misunderstood in Western education power refers not simply to the control of financial, institutional, political, ideological, and communicative resources, but also the control of representations of reality. By representations of reality we are referring to the ways in which particular ways of life are legitimated and delegitimated. In the case of the Western anthropologists’ study of the Africans’ notion of set theory, Western notions of mathematical knowledge were legitimated and the African notions were delegitimated. The colonial status of the Western anthropologists was expressed through the discourse of mathematics. Accompanying their colonial status was an attendant power—a power to control representations of whose knowledge was “civilized” and whose was “primitive.” Such studies rest at the core of the

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reconceptualized curriculum, as they facilitate understanding of the way power works, the way it covertly shapes representations in the curriculum, the way it constructs our view of self and world. 3. ENCOURAGES THE CONSTRUCTION OF MOST JUST AND INCLUSIVE ACADEMIC SPHERES. INDIGENOUS/ SUBJUGATED KNOWLEDGES ARE NOT SEEN HERE AS MERE CURRICULAR ADD-ONS THAT PROVIDE DIVERSITY AND “SPICE” TO WESTERN ACADEMIC INSTITUTIONS. Curricular reforms based on our analysis of indigenous knowledge require that educators become hermeneuts (scholars and teachers who structure their work and teaching around an effort to help students and other individuals to make sense of the world around them) and epistemologists (scholars and teachers who seek to expose how accepted knowledge came to be validated). Such educators bring a new dimension to the academy, as they use subjugated knowledges to reconceptualize the practices of the academy, to uncover the etymology (origin) of its inclusions and exclusions, notions of superiority and inferiority, racism, and ethnocentrism. This historical dynamic is extremely important in the context of subjugated knowledge. Antonio Gramsci (1988) noted that philosophy cannot be understood apart from the history of philosophy; nor can culture and education be grasped outside the history of culture. Our conception of self, world, and education, therefore, can only become critical when we appreciate the historical nature of its formulation. We are never independent of the social and historical forces that surround us—we are all caught at a particular point in the web of reality. One of the most important aspects of subjugated knowledge is that it is a way of seeing that helps us to expose the fingerprints of power in existing academic knowledge. Subjugated knowledge by its mere existence proves to us that there are alternatives to knowledge produced within the boundaries of Western science. 4. PRODUCES NEW LEVELS OF INSIGHT. Keeping in mind the dangers of essentialist readings of indigenous knowledge, we see such perspectives as subjugated knowledges that are local, lifeexperience based, and non-Western science produced. Such knowledge is transmitted over time by individuals from a particular geographical or cultural locality. Indigenous ways of knowing help people to cope with their sociological and agricultural

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? environments and are passed down from generation to generation. A curriculum that values subjugated knowledge in general realizes that indigenous knowledge is important not only for the culture that produced it but for people from different cultures. Only now at the end of the twentieth century are European peoples beginning to appreciate the value of indigenous knowledge about health, medicine, agriculture, philosophy, ecology, and education. Traditionally, these were the very types of knowledge European education tried to discredit and eradicate. Of course, unfortunately, the Western valuing of such knowledges emerges from a recognition of its monetary value in global markets. Critical multicultural education sees a variety of purposes for the inclusion of indigenous knowledges in the school and university curriculum. Since indigenous knowledges do not correspond to Western notions of discrete bodies or practices of data; they must be approached with an understanding of their ambiguity and contextual embeddedness. Thus, any effort to understand or use such knowledges cannot be separated from the world views and epistemologies embraced by their producers. The confrontation with such non-Western ways of seeing moves the power of difference to a new level of utility, as it exposes the hidden worldviews and epistemologies of Westerners unaccustomed to viewing culture— their own and other cultural forms—at this level. In this context the critical multicultural encounter with indigenous knowledge raises epistemological questions relating to the production, and consumption of knowledge, the subtle connections between culture and what is defined as successful learning, the contestation of all forms of knowledge production and the definition of education itself. An awareness of the intersection between subjugated ways of knowing and indigenous knowledge opens a conversation between the “north” and the “south,” that is, between so-called developed and underdeveloped societies. Critical multiculturalists seek to use their awareness of this valuable intersection to produce new forms of global consciousness and inter-cultural solidarity.

5. DEMANDS THAT EDUCATORS AT ALL ACADEMIC LEVELS BECOME RESEARCHERS. Contrary to the pronouncement of reactionary protectors of the Western academic status quo, a subjugated/indigenous knowledge-informed curriculum pushes education to achieve more rigor and higher pedagogical expectations.

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In the schools we envision teachers and students understand multiple epistemologies, possess secondary and primary research skills, and can interpret the meaning of information from a variety of perspectives. In modernist Eurocentric education teachers learned to say “give me the truth and I will pass it along to students in the most efficient manner possible.” In the indigenously-informed schools we advocate teachers are encouraged to understand a variety of subjugated knowledges, to support themselves, to assert their freedom from Eurocentric all-knowing experts. Such teachers might say “please support me as I explore multiple ways of seeing and making sense of the world.” In this context such teachers are intimately familiar with the Western canon but refuse to accept without question its status as universal, as the only body of cultural knowledge worth knowing. Thus, as scholars of Western knowledge, non-Western knowledge, and subjugated and indigenous knowledges, such teachers are not content to operate in socio-educational frameworks often taken for granted. Such culturally and epistemologically-informed educators seek to rethink and recontextualize questions that have been traditionally asked about schooling and knowledge production in general. Ignoring Indigenous Knowledge Such academic proposals may seem revolutionary to many Western scholars, for European academics have almost never had to consider indigenous or subjugated epistemologies in their lives or their work. Why should they understand such perspectives when they view them as illegitimate and primitive? This lack of understanding renders many Western academics unable to assess indigenous knowledge production or comprehend its relationship with or place in the curriculum. Because of these dynamics most Westerners are unfamiliar with the existence of indigenous knowledge, especially in a context where it would be viewed as having value in their lives. Thus, the education we envision opens a new conversation between indigenous and Western peoples. Such a dialogue would serve numerous purposes, not the least of which would provide Westerners with a picture of how they appear to nonWesterners. In the process such peoples would come to see themselves, their belief systems, and the knowledge they produce in a different light. Such a way of seeing will lead to a cultural reassessment that is long overdue. The Western ignorance of indigenous knowledge holds profound consequences for everyone.

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Indigeneity, Epistemology, and Ways of Seeing On one level our study of indigenous knowledge is an examination of how different peoples construct the world. Of course such an epistemological study cannot be conducted in isolation, for any analysis of indigenous knowledge brings up profound political, cultural, pedagogical, and moral questions that interact with and help shape the epistemological domain. This is why the questions, what is indigenous knowledge and why should we study it? don’t lend themselves to easy and concise answers. With our concern with essentialism in mind we and our authors attempt to answer these complex questions. When we focus on the first question—what is indigenous knowledge?—several descriptors quickly come to mind. We will explore such characterizations from a meta-analytical perspective, maintaining throughout a tentativeness and contingency that comes from our appreciation of diversity within the category of indigeneity. June George posits in her chapter in this book that indigenous knowledge is a term that can be used to designate knowledges produced in a specific social context and employed by lay people in their everyday lives. It is typically not generated, she argues, by a set of pre-specified procedures or rules and is orally passed down from one generation to the next. In her chapter, Mahia Maurial emphasizes this everyday use of indigenous knowledge, pointing out that it lives in indigenous peoples’ cultures—not in archives or laboratories. While George’s and Maurial’s assertions are not meant to deny the cultural locality of Western scientific knowledge, they do induce us to provide a definition for who qualifies as an indigenous person. The World Council of Indigenous Peoples maintains that such individuals occupied lands prior to populations who now share or claim such territories and possess a distinct language and culture. With only a few exceptional cases dominant ethnic groups control nation-states in which the indigene live. As a result indigenous peoples are relatively excluded from power and occupy the lowest rungs of the social ladder. We understand that socio-cultural interaction between dominant groups and the indigene is inexorably increasing and any test of cultural purity for classification as indigenous is misguided and in opposition to the best interests of indigenous peoples. Though the boundaries are blurring, indigenous peoples produce forms of knowledge that are inseparable from larger worldviews. Though similarities exist between indigenous and Western scientific knowledges—for example, their mutual status as locally-produced

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ethnoknowledges—Consuelo Quiroz argues in her chapter that modernist knowledges are situated in written texts, legal codes, and academic canons. Thus, a profound difference between the different knowledges involves mainstream societies’ perception and qualitative evaluation of them as much as anything else. This concept of perception is becoming more and more important in the analysis and classification of different knowledge forms as indigenous studies matures as a field. All knowledges are related to specific contexts and peoples (as Jill Abdullah and Ernie Stringer argue in this book); the question becomes what context and peoples. Though locality is implicated in any form of knowledge production, the worldview of the cultures that inhabit different locales may be profoundly different. The nurturing worldview that is the mandate of all humans, elements of the natural world, and deities of particular Andean communities produces a unique form of indigenous knowledge. As Andean peasants listen to, observe, and experience their social and natural worlds, they attend to the “language of the world.” The Andean peoples read such language in: •

•

“the position and brilliance of the stars” and “the frequency, intensity, odor, and color of the winds”—in order to predict the weather. “when and how a particular wild plant flowers”—in order to determine when fallow land is ready for renewed cultivation (Apffel-Marglin, 1995, p. 10).

The number of cultivated plants produced by Andean peasants is mindboggling. Such an accomplishment would be impossible without a detailed body of knowledge of the effects of differing climatic regions, altitudes, soils, and other factors existing within the diverse geographical confines in which the peasants live and work. The detailed conversations they have with the language of the world reveals an amazing attention to multiple interacting specificities. The knowledge that emerges is collectively produced via a dialogical process involving the peasants, their worldview, and nature. Thus, the indigenous knowledge constructed in such a process tends to be communally owned. In this context the community expects that the knowledge will be used responsibly with the group’s best interests always in mind. Thus, the notion of individuality or the possibility of a person being considered separate from his or her group and natural context is inconsistent

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with the Andean worldview. The abstraction and decontextualization so characteristic of modernist science is out of place in a system of knowledge production that is grounded on the cohesiveness of the human, natural, and spiritual world. The individual is connected to the group, the group to nature, and nature to the domain of the spiritual. Knowledge produced in such a context is shaped by the tenor of these relationships. Because of these relational dynamics indigenous knowledge is labeled holistic. Humans and all things constructed by humans cannot be separated from either their culture or the natural world. Even music and musical knowledge, as Clemente Abrokwaa details in his chapter, cannot be understood outside the local context in which they are produced. Human consciousness and the social life of the community are viewed as inseparable in most indigenous societies. In contrast modernist science often reduces consciousness to physiological neuroprocesses, not understanding that the separation and isolation of the parts of a whole undermine our ability to make sense of social, physical, and human phenomena. Cartesian-Newtonian ways of seeing consider “wholes” and the relationships that produce them as less real than their separate and identifiable parts (Baker, 1996; Dei, 1994). With these epistemological dynamics in mind it appears that CartesianNewtonian and many indigenous knowledge systems differ in the very way they define life. As Joe Kincheloe and Shirley Steinberg (1993) picking up on this indigenous dynamic argue in their theory of postformal psychology, the characteristics that scientific modernism defined as basic to life are found both in what the scientific tradition has labeled “living” and “non-living.” Many indigenous peoples have traditionally seen all life on the planet as so multidimensionally entwined that they have not been quick to distinguish the living from the non-living. The modernist use of the term, environment, for example, implies a separation between human and environment. At what point, it may be asked, do oxygen, water, and food become part of the human organism and at what point are they separate? In this context the Andean peasants’ belief that the rivers, mountains, land, soil, lakes, rocks, and animals are sentient may not be as preposterous as Westerners first perceived it. From the Andean perspective all these sentient entities nurture human beings and it is our role as humans to nurture them. In this belief the Andeans are expressing both an epistemological and ontological dynamic—a way of knowing and being that is relational. Indeed, the Western scientific epistemological concept of “knowing” may not fit

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the Andean context; the Andeans’ connection with the world around them is not as much an expression of knowing as much as it is one of relating. Such relating is undoubtedly a spiritual process, as the Andean speaks of his or her relations or kinship system as including human beings as well as animals, the elements and creations of nature, and deities of their “place.” In Andean culture these life forms relate to one another and work together to regenerate life. Thus, in Andean knowledge and many other indigenous knowledges all aspects of the universe are interrelated; knowledge, as Sambuli Mosha points out in his chapter, is in this context holistic, relational, and spiritual. The rhetoric of conversation with the world is a more accurate descriptor of the process than the discourse of knowing in this context, for the Andeans do not conceptualize a knower and known. The point of the conversation is not the gaining of knowledge, it is to nurture and regenerate the world of which the individual is a part. In such indigenous knowledge systems the Eurocentric epistemology of studying, knowing (mastering), and then dominating the world seems frighteningly out of place, as it upsets the sacred kinship between humans and other creations of nature. From the perspective of many indigenous peoples, therefore, Cartesian-Newtonian science is grounded upon a violent epistemology that seeks to possess the earth like a master owns a slave. In this context the master seeks a certainty about the nature of his slave that allows complete control (Aronowitz, 1996; Apffel-Marglin, 1995; Dei, 1994). A less-than-certain knowledge is not good enough for the master and his goal of domination, for Sir Francis Bacon’s attempt to “bind” nature and put it to work in service of human needs. The indigenous epistemologies referenced here are not uncomfortable with a lack of certainty about the social world and the world of nature, for many indigenous peoples have no need to solve all mysteries about the world they operate with and in. Learning from Indigenous Knowledge: Rethinking Western Science The end of the twentieth century in Western cultures is a time of sharp criticism of the scientific establishment by scholars engaged in cultural studies of science, sociologists of scientific knowledge, multiculturalists who uncover the gender and race-inscriptions on the scientific method, and philosophers exposing science’s bogus claims to objectivity. The purposes of such studies do not involve some effort to critique the truth value of Western scientific knowledge, that is the correspondence

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of a scientific pronouncement to a reality existing in isolation to the knower. Rather, such critiques of science point out that Western science has created a self-validating frame of reference that provides authority to particular Western androcentric, culturally-specific ways of seeing the world. Contemporary science studies apply the same forms of analysis to both physical and social sciences, asking in both domains how knowledge is produced and how do implicit worldviews shape the knowledge construction process. Such questions, unfortunately, tend not to come from within the scientific establishment but from outsiders such as students of indigenous knowledge. From the voices and the knowledge of the indigene, Westerners may be induced to take a new look at modernism’s decontextualized rationality and the harm it can cause in peoples’ lives around the planet. Indigenous knowledge provides a provocative vantage point from which to view Eurocentric discourses, a starting place for a new conversation about the world and human beings’ role in it (Ross, 1996; Aronowitz, 1996; Kloppenberg, 1991; Harding, 1996). Thus, our intention in this book is to make the argument that a scholarly encounter with indigenous knowledge can enrich the academy. It is, of course, extremely important to consider the types of questions we ask about the relationship between indigenous knowledge and education. As Marcel Viergever points out in his chapter here, what we know is contingent on the types of questions we ask and the manner in which we interpret the answers. Along with Viergever, we believe that familiarity with indigenous knowledge will help academics both see previously unseen problems and develop unique solutions to them. We simultaneously heed the warning of Rodney Reynar in his essay here that the emerging Western academic interest in indigenous knowledge may not be a positive movement if such knowledge is viewed as merely another resource to be exploited for the economic benefit of the West. Understanding his admonition, we frame indigenous knowledge not as a resource to be exploited but as a perspective that can help change the consciousness of Western academics and their students. In the turn-ofthe-century context where many Western academics are reassessing their science, their epistemology, their research methods, and their educational goals, the questions raised by indigenous knowledge hold a potential revolutionary effect. What a radical change—Western academics and educators learning from indigenous peoples. The goal of such a learning process is to produce a transformative science, an approach to knowledge production that synthesizes ways

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of knowing expressed by the metonymies of hand, brain, and heart. Keeping in mind Reynar’s cautions, it may be possible to examine the relationship between Western science and indigenous ways of knowing in a manner that highlights their differences and complementarities. The purpose here is not simply to deconstruct Western methods of knowledge production or to engage Western scientists in a process of self-reflection. While deconstruction and self-reflection are important, we are more concerned with initiating a conversation resulting in a critique of Western science that leads to a reconceptualization of the Western scientific project around issues of multiple ways of seeing, justice, power, and community. Our notion of an indigenously-informed transformative science is not one that simply admits more peoples— “red and yellow, black and white” into the country club of science but challenges the epistemological foundations of the ethnoknowledge known simply as science. A transformative scientist understands that any science is a social construction, produced in a particular culture in a specific historical era. Via a study of indigenous knowledge Western scientists come to understand their work in unprecedented clarity. As they gain a critical distance from their scholarship, they also gain new insights into the culturally-inscribed Eurocentrism of the academy in general. Such informed scientists could begin to point out the similarities that connect indigenous perspectives with certain schools of feminism, agroecology, critical theory, and affirmative forms of postmodern critiques. While obviously these perspectives are different and come from diverse contexts, there are points around issues of knowledge production where they all intersect. Important and strategic alliances can be constructed around these intersections. Operating in solidarity individuals from these different backgrounds can ask new questions about what it means “to know,” about the role of love and empathy in the epistemological process. A transformative science of education, for example, takes these epistemological and cultural dynamics into account as it reconceptualizes the way students are traditionally assessed. Rejecting the tendency of modernist educators to judge students on an arbitrary, allegedly neutral standard unconnected to them, the transformative educator develops personalized means of evaluating an individual’s performance. The arbitrary norms of science are never disinterested— they are always culturally specific. In these questioning practices transformative analysts are rejecting the universalization tendency of modernist science, interrogating the power dynamics and cultural

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assumptions inscribed upon so-called universal propositions. In this manner they are valuing locality and the insights the process of “deuniversalization” can provide. When agricultural scientists, for example, begin to question the universal truth of scientific agriculture, they become far more receptive to the genius of the local knowledge accumulated by farmers around the world. Our earlier references to Frederique Apffel-Marglin’s reporting of the practices the Andean farmers specifically illustrate the power of locality. Examples of such local ways of knowing are numerous and fascinating in their wisdom (Shankar, 1996; Kloppenberg, 1991; Apffel-Marglin, 1995; Airhihenbuwa, 1995). Using Indigenous Knowledge to Transform Education The same indigenous forces that broaden the understandings of science can help produce a transformative education. The notion of locality and the social construction of science, for example, can help formulate a far more reflective and insightful science education. These concepts rest at the center of the growth of STS (Science, Technology, and Society) programs in colleges and universities. Such programs at their best provide curricular examples for integrating indigenous knowledge into Western mainstream curriculums. While we strongly believe that indigenous studies programs should be established in all colleges and universities, our central concern here involves the ways an appreciation of indigenous knowledge can inform and transform disciplinary curriculums from elementary schools to graduate studies. Such a task will be difficult to accomplish not only because of the ethnocentric condescension toward indigenous knowledges but also because of the way such knowledge does not fit the fragmented packaging of Western curriculums. As June George argues in her chapter, the holistic, transdisciplinary aspect of indigenous knowledge does not match the way knowledge in Western schooling is broken down, decontextualized, and taught in efficient fragments. Hopefully, the Western educational conversation with indigenous ways of knowing would alert students and teachers to this epistemological/pedagogical tendency. Indigenous knowledge in North American and European educational settings opens a new dialogue about the nature of knowledge and the purpose of education. Such an understanding of diverse ways of seeing and learning should help teachers and students clarify the purposes of their own educational activities and facilitate their attempts to answer the question: what are schools for? Hopefully, encounters with

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indigeneity will induce educators and their students to answer such a question in a way that keeps in mind issues such as cultural humility, a reconsideration of the meaning of development, reflections on identity formation and consciousness construction, and an awareness of the power of difference. In this context Western students come to understand that their ways of seeing the world are but one of a plethora of cultural perspectives. The simple act of recognizing the existence of indigenous knowledge in an educational setting undermines Western science’s pretentions to universality. Students and teachers in this pedagogical context understand that Western science is not the only lens through which to look at the world. Engaging Western science and indigenous knowledge in a dialogue with one another grants indigeneity a level of respect it has traditionally not received in Western education. This in itself is a profoundly transformative act. The curricular inclusion of indigenous knowledge grants Westerners a needed interaction with “difference”—a conversation that we believe leads to a heightened Western consciousness. In this context we maintain that engaging difference is more empowering than a narrow focus on homogeneous cultural traditions. As an empowering pedagogical force, difference in a transformative curriculum must not “just simply be tolerated” but cultivated as a catalyst to creativity and insight. The point emerging here involves the ethical and cognitive benefits derived from the confrontation with diversity and the diverse vantage points it provides us for viewing the lived world. Understandings derived from excluded subjugated/indigenous knowledges allow Western educators a new look at questions of American justice, the invisibility of the Western practices of oppression, and the different ways we are socially constructed as individuals. In this spirit educators, their students, and even workers in a variety of vocations begin to examine their microcosms from the perspectives of indigenous peoples around the world. Such cognitive and ethical cross-fertilization often reveals the tacit assumptions that support Western oppression and cognitive tunnel vision. Returning to Kincheloe and Steinberg’s notion of post-formalism, one of the curricular roles of indigenous knowledge in Western education involves the post-formal quest to search the world for different forms of intelligence and to engender greater respect for those who possess such intelligences. The post-formal project is intimately concerned with the boundaries of Western cognition and the limitations of Western reason. Indeed, rationality like knowledge is a socially constructed dynamic and the group that holds power typically gains the prerogative

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to label their own cognitive styles as “reason.” Many lay individuals in Western societies are ahead of their scientific neighbors in appreciating the fact that science has no franchise on the notion of rationality and that Western scientific consciousness is plagued by profound blind spots. Unfortunately, many of those who possess this understanding don’t know where to take it or what to do with it. Of course, this confusion is a central concern of our pedagogy of indigeneity, as we begin to devise ways to draw upon this skepticism and to rethink both Western science and Western education in the cognitive and political space it provides (Jegede, 1994; Howard, 1995; Ross, 1996). In their work in the Center for Aboriginal Studies Jill Abdullah and Ernie Stringer certainly act upon these understandings, as they ground their curriculum on the notion that no discourse has a positive claim to universal, authoritative knowledge. As they and their colleagues in other indigenous education programs around the world compare Western and indigenous classification schematas, provocative new visions emerge. Without such “dialogues with difference” human beings from all cultural backgrounds will lose the benefits of cognitive diversity and the insights into an unimagined future such diversity provides. People living in different circumstances—whether it be climatic, political, religious, cosmological, epistemological, economic, or whatever—devote more attention to features of their environment that are significant to them. Such mindfulness motivates them to produce more precise knowledge about phenomena they consider central to their lives. After scores of generations have devoted close attention to a particular feature of their environment, the knowledge possessed by the cultural group about it is detailed and profound. When such data is viewed in relation to Western scientific knowledge on the topic, the comparative insights that emerge can help uncover cultural assumptions previously unknown by Western peoples. Knowledge of such assumptions can often play a profound role in changing Western consciousness. The effort to construct an indigenously-informed curriculum will not be easy on any level. Western education has consistently been dismissive of non-Western cultural expressions. The curriculum has typically consisted of Western literature, Western history, Western economic theory, and Western religious values all grounded on a Western modernist epistemology of disciplinary fragmentation and scientific “truth.” Teacher education programs don’t often study this epistemological dynamic, not to mention indigenous knowledges and ways of seeing. Since indigenous knowledge is unknown by most

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Western educators, teachers, and professors will have to become researchers of indigenous knowledges. In addition to researching indigenous knowledge and the issues that surround it in general, we call for teachers to seek out and analyze indigenous knowledges in the locales in which their schools are located and from which their students come. By encouraging teachers to become familiar with indigenous knowledges, especially knowledges that manifest themselves in local history, traditional stories, and folklore, they will be able to recognize IK and reward the students who bring this form of indigenous literacy to the classroom rather than punishing them. In addition we believe that teachers should become researchers of indigenous education and pedagogical practices. As Sambuli Mosha argues later in this book, the Chagga peoples’ education for their young involves engaging all aspects of a person. “All aspects” in this context involves more than just the acquisition of information: spiritual, ethical, and moral dimensions are included, as educators attempt to integrate such dynamics with the intellectual domain. An understanding of both indigenous knowledges and indigenous educational practices is necessary for the insightful educator to integrate such curricular understandings into his or her teachings. Where do they fit? For what purposes are they used? What benefits do particular students gain from particular indigenous understandings? To answer such questions educators must be able to provide students with far more than decontextualized factoids about some indigenous culture. They must understand the complex relationship between the indigenous knowledge/insight they are passing along for students to grapple with and the indigenous cosmology that grants contextual meaning to the concept. In addition they must be able to help their students grasp the connections between the indigenous understandings and the students’ lived experiences and school activities. Admittedly, such pedagogical abilities are intellectually demanding and will take much time and detailed study for everyone involved. The outcomes of such work, however, are well worth the effort (Hess, 1995; Harding, 1996; Howard, 1995; Brock-Utne, 1996; Apffel-Marglin, 1995). As educators engage students in the historical development of ideas in any field of study, they can bring in indigenous perspectives to show students that ways of understanding particular phenomena can be different, that intellectual progress can take diverse directions, and that different perspectives can create a critical consciousness that single perspectives cannot. Such a consciousness can change university,

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secondary, and elementary curriculums in unprecedented ways. The indigenously-informed curriculum not only can change education at the macro-level, but it holds profound implications at the micro-level as well. An awareness of these indigenous dynamics helps educators adapt programs to the special needs of local cultural settings or specific students. Educators operating in this manner become far more aware of the relationship between the purposes of their curriculum and the interests, needs, problems, and unique talents of their community. Such awareness allows for educational innovations unthought of by most schools and colleges. In this indigenously-informed educational context students’ lived experiences take on more importance, as teachers connect them to the larger epistemological and cultural dynamics they are helping the students analyze. Contrary to the criticisms of Western curriculum traditionalists, this indigenously-informed, student-experience-based education is not fluffy and touchy-feely. It is a rigorous academic exercise that engages students in reading, writing, and thinking activities far more cognitively complex than what typically occurs in educational settings. Such curriculums can be developed in math education, as students study various individuals’ ways of solving math problems including carpenters from the U.S., Brazilian children making change as they sell newspapers, Australian Aboriginal children and their mathematical understanding of their complex kinship systems, and many others. As the conversation about an indigenously-informed education matures, examples such as these will expand in a variety of knowledge bases. From our perspective one of the most important aspects of an indigenously-informed education involves educators and students using their indigenous perspectives to examine knowledge and knowledge production as a discourse. In the education we imagine students learn “formal” scientific knowledge as an example of a discourse, a product of a set of discursive practices. We define discursive practices as a constellation of tacit rules that regulate what can and cannot be said, who can speak with the blessing of authority and who must listen, whose social and educational constructions are scientific and valid and whose are unscientific and unimportant. In the everyday world of teachers, legitimized discourses insidiously tell teachers what books may be read by students, what instructional methods may be utilized, and what belief systems, definitions of citizenship, and views of success may be taught. Students should be introduced to these rules and the meta-understand-

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ings that accompany them. Comparisons between the discourses of scientific knowledge production and indigenous knowledge production reveal insights into the nature of both ways of seeing. If the discourse of Western science is mechanistic, exact, hypothesis driven, and in search of laws, universal generalizations, and grand theories, the discourse of many indigenous knowledge systems is metaphysical, based on the forces that connect people to one another, and inseparable from religion. Often agricultural, culinary, medical, architectural knowledges in indigenous discourses are intricately intertwined with the theological realm. Students studying indigenous discourses of knowledge production would learn that the various categories of knowledge delineated by modernist science are not separated by indigenous ways of knowing and are perceived to be constantly informing and interacting with one another. In her chapter in this book Anne Parrish characterizes the discourse of Western science as nomothetic, which refers to the attempt to make verifiable generalizations; she characterizes indigenous knowledge as more ideographic, meaning that they are produced through the processes of traditional experiences. By focusing on these discursive dynamics students and teachers gain the intellectual ability not only to distinguish different forms of knowledge production but, most importantly, to construct a vision of what a culturally diverse, ethical, intellectually rigorous system of knowledge production might look like (Baker, 1996; McLaren, 1994; Hess, 1995; Levine, 1996; Jegede, 1994; Jaimes, 1987). Is There Merit in Discussing Dialogical Systems of Knowledge Production? Once individuals come to believe that Western science is not the only legitimate knowledge producer, then maybe a conversation can be opened about different forms of research and knowledge production that take issues of locality, cultural values, and social justice seriously. Our goal as educators/educational scholars operating in Western academia is to conceptualize an indigenously-informed science that is dedicated to the social needs of communities and is driven by humane concerns rather than the economic needs of corporate managers, government, and the military. Much too often Western science is a key player in the continuation of Euro-expansion projects that reify the status quo and further the interests of those in power. In this context we are not attempting to produce a Grand Synthesis that eventuates in one final epistemological/knowledge production system. Instead,

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we hope that we all can learn from difference, from the profound insights and the limitations of various ways of seeing the world and the humans who inhabit it. Thus, different ways of seeing can coexist, many of them in what might be labeled confederations of solidarity, around a compact to encourage and engage in dialogue about the moral, political, and pedagogical consequences of various forms of knowledge production. Caution is necessary here, for the types of dialogue that have taken place about these matters to date have too often been condescendingly Eurocentric. Indigenous knowledge producers have been positioned as exotic inferiors who must be introduced to the advanced world of Western science (Kloppenberg, 1991; Airhihenbuwa, 1995). With these ideas in mind, the term, hybridity, has been injected into the conversation about the dialogue between Western and indigenous knowledges. Such a term consciously references the effort to transcend essentialism with its understanding that cultural interaction is a historical inevitability. Frederique Apffel-Marglin (1995) is uncomfortable with the use of hybridity in this context, arguing that the concept renders the creative work and ingenuity of indigenous peoples invisible. Apffel-Marglin is writing in this case from the perspective of indigenous culture making use of Western knowledge; the point is still important to consider even though in the context of this essay we are focusing on the role of indigenous knowledge in the Western academy. How are different cultural perspectives incorporated into other ways of seeing and systems of knowledge production? Can the indigenous confrontation with the Western paradigm help bring about a deep modification of Western perspectives? Our essentialism detector tells us that no cultures exist in a pristine, uncontaminated state and that some form of cultural interaction is always taking place. Yet, how does such interaction relate to the concept of cultural continuity and regeneration in light of the reality of the perseverance of long-lasting distinctive cultural traditions? Western students of indigenous knowledge and advocates of incorporating such knowledge into the Western curriculum must address these issues in their scholarship and pedagogy to protect themselves from simplistic applications of indigeneity to the Western context. Again, the purpose here is not to produce “the end of epistemological history,” a final articulation of the best way to produce knowledge. Sandra Harding (1996), writing about a transformed science, uses the term “borderlands epistemology” to signify the valuing of different understandings of the world that diverse cultures produce.

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Harding’s concept of borderlands epistemology works well for our concerns. Western scholars in this context would be able to draw upon different systems of knowledge and knowledge production given the various situations they encounter. In this framework we would not seek the final representation of the world or some infallible mapping of social and physical reality. While social, psychological, pedagogical, and physical scholars would modify their sciences in light of indigenous understandings, they would not work to merely copy non-Western ways of seeing. This is the type of dialogue we seek in indigenousinformed knowledge production and curriculum development in Western societies. Thus, scientific boundaries would be redrawn and opened to new negotiations. Such a process will provide Western analysts not only with new physical and social scientific insights, but will open their eyes to the political and cultural forces at work in all scientific labor. Informed in this manner, Western scientists traditionally chained to their decontextualized laboratories will peer outside to study the effects of their isolated inquiries on living people in naturalistic environments. Indeed, neglected questions of sustainability and local contexts will enter the vocabularies of analysts who previously dismissed such concepts from the purview of their protocols (Ross, 1996; Kloppenberg, 1991). A Synergistic Dialogue What we are proposing here is a synergistic dialogue that pedagogically works to create conditions where both intra- and inter-cultural knowledge traditions can inform one another. Mahia Maurial well understands this concept in her chapter here, as she imagines a dialogical educational future. These encounters reduce the ugly expression of epistemological xenophobia and the essentialism it spawns—whatever its source. In the Center for Aboriginal Studies, Abdullah and Stringer report, this synergistic dialogue is encouraged by the assumption of the intrinsic worth of various frames of reference. Different ways of seeing can illuminate problems in unique ways and should be understood in this manner. The questions of the nature of indigenous knowledge and its academic uses are obviously complex but central to the future of education. The authors of this volume appreciate this complexity as they struggle to address the various themes raised by our questions. It is our profound hope that this volume will generate discussion and new questions about indigenous knowledge and the issues of justice, difference, ethics, and cognition that surround it.

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CHAPTER TWO

Indigenous Knowledge and Schooling: A Continuum Between Conflict and Dialogue Mahia Maurial

Introduction The purpose of this essay is to contribute to the reconceptualization of education through the conceptualization of indigenous knowledge. In its attempt to widen a perspective that reduces education to “schooling”, this essay pleads for the validation of indigenous knowledge. Thus, it is essential to contextualize the problem of study. This permits a clear view of the social construction of reality in a “given space and time.” The context of this essay is settled among indigenous peoples of Peru. “Indigenous” peoples are assumed here to be the peoples who were or are colonized by the Western world. Furthermore, this essay proposes a study of the meaning of indigenous knowledge through the view of a “circular continuum”, instead of a “straight line of human evolution”. In other words, this essay proposes an alternative view to a colonial perspective that dichotomizes reality in its qualification of societies as being or not being “progress-oriented”, “civilized”, “developed”, or “literate”, in the process rejecting a belief in these “superior truths”. The view of a continuum between conflict and dialogue that occurs as a result of indigenous peoples’ interaction with the Western world, especially through a canonical knowledge, can be used as a clue to understand the complexity of the problem of education among indigenous peoples. In general, the process of schooling for indigenous peoples of Peru has not fostered democracy. Schools have imposed a foreign curriculum that devalues indigenous knowledge. Linked with this, schools consecrated a Western worldview that isolates human beings from nature. This raised a conflict with indigenous knowledges because schooling broke holisticity, one of the bases of indigenous knowledge.

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Alternatively, a dialogical education for indigenous peoples of Peru implies, first, the validation of indigenous knowledge in schooling and non-schooling settings in the locale; and second, a critical understanding—by indigenous peoples themselves—of their local history that could strengthen a dialogue with Western culture and a whole re-linkage with nature. A dialogical education could only be possible through the enhancement of indigenous self-governments. Theoretically, this essay primarily brings insights born from the Southern Hemisphere (as the author is Peruvian herself). It explores the contribution of Peruvian anthropology and the fundamental contribution of Paulo Freire and other Latin American authors. It is also enriched by Northern strong critics of “the superior truths” of the contemporary society such as Ivan Illich and David Orr. The hope is that these reflections will serve the readers, by comparison, to better understand their own work as teachers-learners and researchers— but principally dwellers—of a place, their people, and their knowledge. Superior Truths Unveiled Modernity has consecrated intertwining superior truths as a result of colonialism, which states a “linear evolution of the world” (Esteva 1993, p. 12). These intertwined truths (so-called) of “progress”, “civilization”,—and since the second World War—“development,” and “literacy” are considered superior stages of society in modern minds. However, the contemporary dismantlement of these superior truths threatens the modern paradigm. Alternatively, this essay proposes to view a circular continuum between the indigenous and Western world for the understanding of indigenous knowledge. Through the superior truths, modern minds consecrate a reductionism that assumes Western information as the only one valid form of knowledge, while simultaneously denying indigenous ways of knowing. The dichotomies created through opposing the superior truths—societies that fall into the qualification of “non-progressed”, “primitives”, “underdeveloped”, and “non-literate”—hierarchize societies and view those that do not practice these truths as inferior. Different from this, a perspective that validates indigenous knowledge from the academy dismantles Eurocentrism, i.e., the belief in a human unilineal evolution, the basis of colonialism. The study of indigenous knowledge vindicates non-Western knowledge that has been considered inferior since the colonial era. Currently, indigenous knowledge is considered “ignorance” or

Continuum Between Conflict and Dialogue

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“obstacles to rational progress” (Hobart, 1996, p. 2)1 by most of the planners of development that work with indigenous peoples. Progress is a “destiny” (Sbert, 1993, p. 195) in modern minds. Modern men and women supplanted their belief in the providence of the Middle Ages by their belief in progress. In this way, progress is an “irresistible imperative of power” (Sbert, 1993, p. 196). Nevertheless, progress is mostly “only an illusion” among indigenous peoples. This means that it is not a reached stage for many indigenous peoples of Peru, as for many indigenous peoples of the so-called underdeveloped countries. Schooling, the main route for progress in Peruvian anthropological studies of indigenous peoples of the Andes (Degregori, 1986; Ansión, 1988; Montoya, 1990), did not produce the outcomes and achievements expected as showed by some studies (Post 1994; Maurial 1995). Illich states lucidly that: The school system today performs the threefold function common to powerful churches throughout history. It is simultaneously the repository of [a given] society’s myth, the institutionalization of that myth’s contradictions, and the locus of the ritual which reproduces and veils the disparities between myth and reality. (Illich, 1983, p. 54)

Thus, the belief of social equalization through school is not really a truth for many indigenous peoples of Peru. The unfulfillment of progress is also attributed to “internal colonies” in the Northern hemisphere. Thus, the unfulfillment of progress is a phenomenon that pervades the whole planet. Researchers and policymakers refer to the current “disenchantment with formal schooling” (Semali 1995, p. 70). Development and literacy are superior truths that attempt to materialize the myth of progress among the “developing” countries in the years since the end of World War II. This paper assumes that the illusion of progress is undisguised through continual failures of literacy campaigns that were viewed by planners as a “potentially powerful remedy for underdevelopment” (Semali, 1995, p. 70) in the past two decades. Nowadays, there exists a “call for redevelopment” (Esteva, 1993, p. 16). Furthermore, the ecological damages caused to the planet by development provoke doubts on the faith in progress (Sbert, 1993). Thus, with “sustainable development” (World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987) government authorities tried to repair the ecological damages. However, the limitation on the use

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of nature that this model proposes is unachievable because modern society supports the infinite creation of needs (Illich, 1993). Additionally, the “use” of nature implied is a “monologue” (Orr, 1992, p. 90) or a non-reciprocating relationship between humankind and nature, and not a dialogue. Thus the ecological damages persist. This essay will follow the routes of the continuum between conflict and dialogue to understand the complexity of the problem resulting from the interaction between Western and indigenous knowledge. This continuum goes from an extreme conflict resolved in the disindigenization (assimilation) of indigenous peoples into Western culture through progress. Indigenous peoples then “become workers for industry, consumers for the market, citizens for the nation and humans for mankind” (Sbert 1993, p. 197). For some, however, conflict evolves into resistance to Western culture and knowledge. Resistance evolves into dialogue or the incorporation of Western culture into the indigenous world without a fundamental transformation (Apffel-Marglin, 1995) or loss of indigenous peoples’ values. The existence of new commons, or indigenous culture’s regeneration, may be the extreme way of dialogue. The plea for the support on the new commons (Esteva, 1993) could be the beginning of the deep respect—by academicians—of dialogue between indigenous and Western knowledge or the acceptance and validation of other logics, other worldviews, different than the Western one reigned by the logic of Homo-economicus. This respect preserves the continuation of indigenous knowledge. A dialogical education among indigenous peoples, which brings indigenous knowledge to schools and other institutions, could foster a new—but really old—literacy, an “ecological literacy” (Orr, 1994) based in the linkage of humans and nature, or of indigenous peoples and their territories. They may teach us—Western teachers and researchers—a way to be ecologically literate or how to read the world in a dialogical relationship with nature. What Does Indigenous Knowledge Mean? Indigenous knowledge is peoples’ cognitive and wise legacy as a result of their interaction with nature in a common territory. Indigenous peoples, with a common history of colonization by Western culture, constantly regenerate this knowledge. This paper assumes that even if reality is a continuum, the construction of a bipolar model, i.e., indigenous knowledge versus Western knowledge, helps researchers to understand a postcolonial reality by surpassing a colonial one.


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Constructing “indigenous knowledge” permits to see its bases: 1. Indigenous knowledge is local 2. Indigenous knowledge is holistic 3. Indigenous knowledge is agrapha Indigenous knowledge is local because it is the result of the quotidian interactions in indigenous peoples’ territories. These interactions occur among families, communities, and indigenous—and to a lesser degree, non-indigenous—peoples. Indigenous knowledge is immersed in the whole culture and is recreated through generations. This recreation takes place in the daily oral stories in indigenous language, in the daily agrarian work in the land, in the daily cure with indigenous plants, etc. It also occurs during special events such as feasts. The essence of indigenous knowledge is that it is alive in indigenous peoples’ culture. Different from Western knowledge, it is neither in archives, nor in laboratories. It is not separated from practical life. Thus, indigenous peoples are the actors of their knowledge and not passive repositories of a knowledge separated from everyday peoples’ life. However, there are also non-local or non-indigenous factors that influence the recreation of—local—indigenous knowledge. These factors include such phenomena as indigenous responses to technological, market, and state innovations. One important basis of an indigenous worldview expressed through indigenous knowledge is holisticity. Ideas and practices are one. There is no division among “disciplines of knowledge.” What Western thinking calls “religion”, “law”, “economics”, “arts”, etc. are united within a whole entity of worldview. Oral tradition expresses this, especially through indigenous peoples’ mythical narrations, because of their complexity. The holistic basis of indigenous knowledge is produced and reproduced within human relationships as well as in their relationship with nature. Therefore, a real understanding of indigenous knowledge occurs in its cultural “wholeness.” Indigenous knowledge is basically transmitted through oral tradition in societies that are agrapha, “not written down [directly]” (The Random House Dictionary).2 Agrafa is a word used in Hispanic anthropology. It refers to societies that did not invent or incorporate originally written expression in their culture. These societies maintained a complex oral tradition recreated daily from parents to children and elders to youngsters. Through oral tradition, indigenous peoples

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transmit their holistic culture; in this way human beings’ relationships foster among them and between them and nature. Deconstructing the Word “Indigenous” From its origin, the word “indigenous” has been loaded with ideological connotations. Its coinage is inextricably linked to colonialism. Colonial history has taught us that all the non-conquering peoples [non-Europeans] are indigenous. Included in this categorization are the Navajos of NorthAmerica, the Quechuas of South-America, or the Shona of Southern Africa. What common characteristics do these peoples share? From the perspective of the colonizers, they share the common destiny of being colonized by Europeans. Viewed from the eyes of their colonizers, indigenous peoples are the losers, those who lack power. Power defines “knowledge.” Therefore, the colonizers of indigenous peoples have denied the latter’s beliefs in the status of being called knowledge. They were commonly called ignorant, primitive, inferior. A postcolonial point of view presents or discovers Eurocentrism (Hall, 1996). This point of view assumes challenges to deconstruct and reconceptualize the word indigenous from its primogenious meaning into the contemporary one. The former implies a definition that involves interaction. It means to define indigenous not only according to outsiders but also insiders, or from the contemporary relationships of the so-called indigenous with the major society. This line of ideas recognizes that in the recent past, indigenous peoples have appropriated the word for themselves. In other words, even if the term was coined from the colonizers (the outsiders), nowadays the term, as it is used by indigenous peoples, connotes plurality instead of otherness. Today, the word indigenous serves as a clue in the discourse of indigenous people historically oppressed to address self-determination, political autonomy, or a democratic relationship with the NationState. This is possible through indigenous movements represented in “indigenous grassroots organizations” in local, regional, national, and international arenas. Examples of international movements are COICA (Coordinating Body of Indigenous People’s Organizations of the Amazon Basin), CONIC (Continental Commission of Indigenous Nations), and many more (Varese, 1996). It is important to mention that, from outsiders, there exists an important school of thought, the “Critical Indigenismo” that vindicated indigenous self-sufficiency from two decades ago (Marzal, 1989).3 This is a Latin-American school that criticized assimilatory and


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integrationist indigenisms. As an academic school, it had a different character than indigenous self-determination movements however, their adherents have supported and continue to support those movements. On the other hand, today international non-indigenous organizations such as the United Nations assume the term to proclaim the respect of “indigenous peoples.” This is illustrated in the “United Nations Draft Declaration of Indigenous Peoples’ Rights”. It states in its Article 8: “Indigenous peoples have the collective and individual right to maintain and develop their distinct identities and characteristics, including the right to identify themselves as indigenous [emphasis added] and to be recognized as such” (Ewen, 1994, p. 163). Indigenous Education: A Dialogue With Nature The holistic character of indigenous knowledge impregnates an ecological basis to indigenous education. Home, rivers, gardens, forests are the settings of indigenous education by which indigenous knowledge is learned in a dialogical relationship with nature. Julio Valladolid Rivera (1995), from PRATEC, (Poyecto Andino de Tecnologías Campesinas), a Peruvian non-governmental organization, suggests that the Andean relationship with nature is comprehended in the verb (in active and passive voices) “to nurture and be nurtured.” He states, talking about the chacras or Andean lands for agriculture: In the central Andes, agriculture was born with the raising of the chacra. To raise a chacra is not merely to domesticate plants and animals: it is to nurture lovingly and respectfully, in other words, to nurture ritually, together with the plants and animals, the soils, waters, micro-climates and, in general, the whole land (p. 25).

In indigenous cultures, children first learn that nature is alive. This living nature possesses different kinds of spirits. An example taken from the Aguaruna socialization, an indigenous people from the Amazon Basin, explains this as follows.4 When an Aguaruna child learns a productive activity like pottery making—for the girls—or hunting—for the boys—they learn first how to ask permission to the spiritual owner of the natural element they will relate to. In this way Aguaruna knowledge is transmitted through generations. The mother, the father, aunts, uncles, and grandparents are the first educators of

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children. Women will teach women’s activities and men, men’s activities. In general, agrapha societies educate through examples that children imitate and through oral tradition based on their mythology that is very complex and rich. Chumap Lucía and García Rendueles (1979) describe women’s relationship with the land through Nunkui, the Aguaruna’s agriculture goddess (a deity with numerous identities): They are the goddesses of the underground. Their words have the power to make present every kind of domestic animal and plant. They are also owners of some animals that sometimes they release to the surface. There is a continual interaction between the Nunkui’s world and the surface one (the land). Women, through the rite ask Nunkui to make possible “a new creation” in her garden: that cassavas mature, that bananas give bunches…At the same time Nunkui will give strength to the land and control the fulfillment of the traditional techniques of agriculture that they themselves taught to Aguaruna women (p. 779)5

An understanding of the dialogical aspect of indigenous education with nature impels, by comparison, an understanding of the modern notion of nature. This permits one to see how fragmentation, and not holisticity, is the essence of Western knowledge. Holisticity is opposite to the reductionism of modern knowledge that is a result of modern specialization. This is expressed in the fragmentation of disciplines in modern schools, which is one of the causes of a “conflictual education,” as will be explained later. As an example (for the moment), a plant has meaning for an indigenous child in a garden, in the forest, on the lake, on the mountain, fed by water and sun, alive. A plant has no meaning in a black-metal microscope. In the child’s world, she or he will touch the plant, will see it growing up, will be worried if it does not rain, and will ask gods or goddesses to save it. In the microscope the plant loses its relationship with the world, the society of plants, animals, and human society. At that time knowledge is reduced and fragmented. This is a “given” in an education in schools that strongly divides knowledge into disciplines.6 The history of science illustrates what is stated above. Briefly, since the time of Sir Francis Bacon, with the origin of natural sciences, based on experimentation, the reciprocity and communion that ancient cultures maintained with nature were replaced by “domination”, through a male-oriented philosophy that proclaims the Kingdom-of-


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Progress. This is suggested in Bacon’s book entitled The Masculine Birth of Time. (Shiva, 1993). Indigenous Knowledge and Western Knowledge: A Continuum Between Conflict and Dialogue The concern here is first to analyze how indigenous knowledge, as a whole, has been hierarchized as inferior from Western knowledge within the Western world and its institutions of power (State, Academy, market, etc.), which certainly have interacted with indigenous communities. Secondly, the concern is to investigate how indigenous knowledge could regenerate in spite of its subjugated condition. What follows, then, is a delineation of the different routes of the continuum, that have resulted from the interaction between indigenous and Western knowledge. Knowledge is intrinsically crossed by factors of power. Conflict is expressed in the existence of “subjugated knowledges: a whole set of knowledges that have been disqualified as inadequate to their task or insufficiently elaborated” (Foucault, 1980, p. 82). The West has disqualified indigenous knowledge (in singular as a category). The magnitude and explicitness of conflict as a result of the interaction between the Western and indigenous worlds is immeasurable. This conflict began some five hundred years ago, with the first encounter of Western and American Indian civilizations. Europe imposed completely different worldviews, languages, political, religious, and economic ways of living in society. In Peru, the first meeting between the Inca emperor and the conquerors expresses this problematic situation. The priest who accompanied the conquistadors presented the Bible to Atahualpa, the Inca emperor, and as he did not belong to a scriptural civilization, he did not understand it and threw it away (Ansión, 1988). This act marked the beginning of the clash of two civilizations in South America and the subjugation—from the West— of indigenous knowledges. As a result, however, indigenous knowledges developed a power inside indigenous communities, a “centripetal” power. A holistic worldview expressed through oral tradition, rites, agrarian and health practices, etc. has endured locally. Thus indigenous knowledge has moved along a continuum between conflict and dialogue. Processes of resistance of indigenous peoples against Western conquerors have subsequently occurred. Resistance against academic knowledge is part of a larger resistance to Western civilization. This

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is expressed through myths. Inkarri myth, or the resurgence of the Inca when the body will be joined again (Wachtel, 1977), is an ancient myth recreated by centuries until the last decades. Later, with the expansion of Western education in the Andes, resistance against Western knowledge is expressed in a myth in which school is represented as— awpa Macchu, or a monster that swallows children (Ortiz, 1973), a myth alive two decades ago. However, schools have consolidated an opposite route for conflict—in relation to resistance—between indigenous and Western knowledge, a disindigenization or denial of indigenous knowledge. This is a consequence of the absorption of indigenous peoples into the myth of progress, as previously mentioned. In the continuum viewed, tension is reduced when resistance flows into dialogue. Exchange of goods, ideas, etc. between indigenous peoples and Westerners encourages dialogue. Neither isolation nor assimilation of the whole people to Western culture has been the general trend in indigenous peoples’ history. Dialogue began when indigenous peoples used the knowledge learned through schools to “claim their rights” (Ansión, 1988, p. 44) or “possess Spanish vocabulary to discuss [their differences] with the misti [the white]” (Montoya 1979, p. 193). However, in these cases, schooling generated only a partial dialogue. Beyond, conflict persisted because Andean schools pervaded in the basic imposition of a foreign worldview (Western), a worldview that sustained a bilingual education policy—and practice—of “minority language eradication” (Hornberger, 1988, p. 16), in spite of various “initiatives from the top-down”. Nevertheless, there is a space for extreme dialogue in this continuum. This dialogue can only take place by recognizing the existence of indigenous cultures’ “regenerations” (Apffel-Marglin, 1995)—or indigenous recreation of their knowledge— that some academicians plead as new commons, “which allow them [men at the margins] to live in their own terms” (Esteva, 1993, p. 20). In the attempt to understand the significance of being indigenous today, academics from PRATEC have developed a coherent philosophy. Apffel-Marglin (1995) worked with them and wrote: In a dialogical relationship one interacts, one listens carefully as well as adopt many things from one’s interlocutor but…these things are incorporated into one’s own world rather than one’s world becoming fundamentally transformed through syncretization or hybridization [emphasis added], (p. 6)


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Syncretization comes from syncretism, which refers to “the hybridization or amalgamation of two or more cultural traditions…. Syncretistic analysis…unavoidably raises problems of history and social change” (Barnard, 1996, p. 539). The main difference that ApffelMarglin (1995) found between these two categories and dialogue, is that syncretization and hybridization emerge from “observed traits or activities and not [as dialogue does] from within the lived experience of the people in question” (p. 7). As this paper focuses on peoples, dialogue has the potency to explain the process of encounter of peoples of two different worlds. This paper emphasizes “dialogue and not the signs of a fundamental transformation” (p. 6). In summary, far from being static, indigenous peoples and their knowledge have continued to evolve in a continuum between conflict and dialogue with Western peoples and their knowledge. These have defined their history, particularly during the five centuries of oppression. As expressed above, schools—linked with [Western] literacy and development—and the resistance that they provoked within the last five decades, brought new routes to this continuum. A Conflictual Education: The School Myth and Its Consequences This is an attempt to contextualize the conflictual element of the continuum that occurred with the expansion of schools on indigenous territories since the beginning of the second half of this century. This coincides with the propagation of the “superior” truths of modernity (progress, civilization, development, literacy) among indigenous peoples. In general, the routes of conflict, seen between indigenous and Western knowledges, produce a break of indigenous dialogue with nature in space and time. In spatial terms, this break is exemplified in what has happened with indigenous peoples of the Peruvian Amazon basin. Commonly linked with religious missions, schools were established near the major jungle rivers. This resulted in the resettlement of entire families that changed their patterns of population from living in dispersed clans to living in concentrated “native communities”. The subsequent unchecked depletion of resources without the obligatory recovery period, which formerly took place, wreaked havoc with the surrounding territory and its flora and fauna (Pozzi-Escot & Zorrilla, 1994). Along with the spatial conflict created by the resettlement, there was also a spatial conflict that surged from the Western practice of indoor education, a break with the local

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aspect of indigenous knowledge practices. This separation of learning from the territory, however, was just the beginning. Not only did Western pedagogy create a spatial break, it also created temporal breaks. It did this by the fragmentation of knowledge into different disciplines and courses (the result of specialization), which are further fragmented into designated time periods through the adherence to a school schedule. Therefore, this fragmented the holistic character of indigenous knowledge. Another aspect of the temporal conflict is the one between “school time” and “family time” (Ansión, 1988). Children have participated since an early age in the daily task for survival in Andean and Amazonian communities. This short-term process has been diminished by a longterm investment at school (Ansión 1988). Furthermore, school time broke the linkage of natural cycles, the “cycles of day and night, the seasons, the pace of procreation…” (Orr 1992, p. 91) with human cycles. Indigenous peoples had adapted their times of activities to the natural cycles. The seasons govern agrarian activities, pastoral activities, hunting and gathering, etc.: activities which indigenous peoples had pursued for centuries long before the first encounters they experienced with Westerners. Possibilities and Obstacles for an Indigenous Dialogical Education Dialogue is understood in two aspects: between indigenous peoples and Westerners, and between human societies and nature. A dialogical education puts into practice both aspects of dialogue through learningteaching interactions in participatory settings. It encompasses both schooling and non-schooling education. Its aim is to foster a critical evaluation of local history by indigenous peoples themselves as a route for democracy. This involves the practice of ecological literacy based on indigenous knowledge. Paulo Freire (1994), in reflecting on the dialogue between teacher and student, postulated that the essence of dialogue is “critical thinking”. From an indigenous knowledge perspective, critical thinking is that thinking “which discerns an indivisible solidarity between the world [local territory, community, and nature] and the people [indigenous people] and admits of no dichotomy between them—a thinking which perceives reality as process, as transformation…” (Freire, 1994, p. 73). Thus, empowerment is possible through dialogue based on critical thinking among the actors of education, teachers-learners, or learners-


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teachers, and researchers involved. This permits the understanding of local history to act. Dialogical education practices a critical evaluation of different social and political aspects of the locale: local history of colonization; local impact of global economy and modern technologies; interactions among planners, teachers-researchers, and indigenous peoples, etc. Important educational concepts that could be valued are traditional productive activities and feasts, indigenous knowledge of flora and fauna, etc. It is important to analyze in two steps how those particular knowledges evolved in conflictual relationships with Western knowledge (processes of losses or endurances). It is only as a secondary step that anthropological and ecological categories could serve to critically evaluate first, cultural, and ecological richness of indigenous knowledges and second, the transformations that have taken place in their territories due to outsiders’ interventions. To begin to build alternatives to the conflict is to foster an indigenous dialogical education. In the re-linkage of local history in space and time, a new education is possible; one that values and learns from a literacy based on the holistic interrelatedness between the people and their territory. This entails a fostering of the value of indigenous education in schooling and non-schooling settings. This education values and sees ways for practice on: holisticity, expressed in the coincidence of productive, artistic, religious, and normative activities in the oral discourse; indigenous—outdoor—education in people’s territory and indigenous education in homes; and, finally the interconnectedness of natural and human cycles (Orr, 1992), illustrated in a harvest.7 However, there are two basic obstacles to overcome in the praxis of a dialogical education. The first obstacle is related to the power of Western knowledge. A truly dialogical education in indigenous territories is subversive to Western pedagogy because it values knowledges that have been hitherto subjugated by the process of colonization. At the present, within the general mestizo population of a given town, there is a perceived reticence (among some directors of schools or district authorities) to accept any initiatives that would be conducive to affecting a reversal of the process of disindigenization. The second obstacle refers to the dialogue between Western and indigenous teachers-learners and researchers. For researchers working with indigenous peoples in intercultural curricula, there exists the urgency to develop an intercultural vocabulary. For the moment, this essay includes only questions in this respect: How to shape different worldviews and

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traditions of knowledges in “common terms”? How to use “the most simple words” and know that the meaning given for indigenous and non-indigenous is the same? Is to integrate terminologies only a process of enrichment or are there also losses of knowledge? What, then, is the balance in the search for an intercultural vocabulary? Indigenous knowledges permits a dialogical education and anticipates the protagonism of indigenous peoples as their principal critical educators. Dialogical education validates their legacy as autonomous peoples, who are also knowledgeable of Western values, perceptions, categories, etc.; knowledge that is needed to understand local problems which have resulted from outside interventions. Thus, this education fosters them to conduct their history as a people and a more democratic interaction with the Nation-State. Among current projects of alternative education targeted to indigenous peoples, academicians are commonly promoters of intercultural education, catalysts of discussion, or informers of Western knowledge in indigenous communities. Having indigenous peoples as the protagonists of the education that takes place in their territories is the only way to ensure that the “lenses are not dark.” In other words, the protagonism of indigenous teachers in their intercultural education projects reduces the risk of the supravaluation of Western knowledge and the continued devaluation of indigenous ways of knowing. The End or the Beginning? Ethical Consequences for Researchers and Educators The contemporary postcolonial challenge to define indigenous and “indigenous knowledge” compels knower and known to expand their understanding of the ethical implications of their research or teaching. In this way they could be aware and, at the same time, anticipate its impact on indigenous society. Qua “indigenous knowledge researchers” we need to search for modesty, the attitudes of learners and not of appropriators. The metaphor of Spaniards as “takers” of the Incas’ gold during the Conquest might also be applicable at the present time insofar as academic research on Indigenous knowledge. To avoid the perception that we academics are “takers”, we need to be ever cognizant to respect the intellectual property rights of indigenous peoples over their knowledge.8 Our intervention in an indigenous world—writing, doing fieldwork or teaching, etc.—is not neutral. Writing will certainly produce in many readers a will to explore the indigenous world. As a result, “our


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mission” as indigenous knowledge researchers will be multiplied and the impact on indigenous peoples will grow. On the other hand, the study of indigenous knowledges is frequently linked to a “development model.” In these cases, the researcher’s intervention—usually in participatory-research or active research—will produce attitudes of silence. As Hobart says: Even where developers have sufficient command of language to speak and listen, the relationship of developers and developed are usually regarded as hierarchical by both parties. So communication easily becomes the giving of information or instruction by those with expert knowledge. And all too often the only effective means of disagreement is silence or the refusal to engage in enterprises as defined by the superior party, who may treat those to be developed as invisible anyway (Hobart, 1993. p. 11–12)

The fostering of a real understanding is a challenge to these projects. In this line, a way for we academics to learn indigenous knowledge may be to begin with the forsaking of the “superior truths”, or the unilineal model of modernity and the adoption instead of a circular vision of Western and indigenous relationships. Additionally, the respect of communities and grassroots organizations is crucial for the construction of a real intercultural dialogue. As fieldwork researchers, in circumstances of contact, neutrality is impossible. Then we might be, while conversing with indigenous peoples, “comotors” (Esteva, 1987) of indigenous knowledge: To promote something is always to try to move something in a predetermined direction. In connection with people, this usually implies that they are not in motion or that they are moving in the wrong direction. Our experience tells us that there are no people without motion, and “we” cannot presume the role of a primum movens for the people…“We” cannot presume that “we” know what they do not know and should know; or what they want or do not want, or what they need to do for their own good. To be on the hinge means that instead of promotion, “we” look for co-motion; “we” move ourselves with them. “We” move just by being them; “we” also accept being moved by them. (p. 149)

As educators, we are committed to explore, teach, but first of all to learn critically, from the indigenous world. Finally, we are also

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committed to give testimony of our work, insights, and of our teachingthrough-learning, and learning-through-teaching. Conclusions By drawing a continuum between conflict and dialogue for indigenous knowledge and schooling in Peru, this essay attempted to understand this problem in its real complexity. The postcolonial approach endeavored to deconstruct the colonial—and unilineal—notion of education founded on “superior truths”. The colonial system provoked the emergence of different routes of conflict among indigenous peoples, especially during the second half of this century, through schooling. However, routes of dialogue also exist among indigenous peoples and Westerners. Dialogue provides a channel to foster an intercultural education. It is understood in two aspects. The first aspect is fulfilled among indigenous and Western actors of education: teachers-learners, pupils, parents, community leaders, researchers, and planners. The second aspect of the dialogue is fulfilled between actors of education and nature. It encompasses indigenous knowledge. The challenge for Western researchers and teachers working on indigenous knowledge is to foster this dialogue and contribute to overcoming the obstacles mentioned. This is only possible by first respecting indigenous peoples and, lastly, by acting ethically or “seeing broadly.” Endnotes 1. Although the author referred to “popular knowledge” in general, the quotation was considered very appropriate. 2. The Random House Dictionary of the English Language (1987). New York: Random House (2nd ed.). Unabridged (p. 40). 3. Two of the founders of this school—Varese (1996) and Bonfil (1996)—are currently inspired by the same ideas, recreated. 4. This was learned by the author while teaching to Aguarunas’ school teachers in the Peruvian Amazon Basin. The author is grateful to all of them. 5. This was learned by the author while teaching to Aguarunas’ school teachers in the peruvian Amazon Basin. The author is grateful to all of them.


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6. However, there are currently many interesting practices in the field of Environmental Education—promoted by NonGovernmental Organizations—that give value to cultural diversity and include indigenous knowledge. They also promote interconnections of disciplines and the practice of outdoors education. Nevertheless, Environmental Education is still “one more discipline” and not the integral area that transcends the division of courses, as Orr (1992) conceives it. 7. Currently, interesting experiments in “Intercultural Education” are going on in Peru among indigenous territories (initiated by Non Governmental Organizations), which base their work in these values and knowledges. Nevertheless, the importance given to indigenous and Western knowledges varies among them. 8. The development of these ideas can be found in Varese (1996). The text was originally written in Spanish. The fragment quoted was translated by the author of this essay. References Ansión, Juan (1988). La Escuela en la Comunidad Campesina. Lima: FAO. Apffel-Marglin, Frédérique (1995). The Andean Peasants’ Traditional Cosmovision as it is Being Regenerated Today. In Regeneration in The Andes. Series: Endogenous and Vernacular Alternatives. 5. No 126. 3–17. Barnard, Alan and Jonathan Spencer (1996). Encyclopedia of Social and Cultural Anthropology. London, New York: Routledge. Bonfil, Guillermo (1996). México Profundo. Austin: University of Texas Press, Institute Of Latin American Studies. Callicot, J. (1994). Earths’ Insights. London: University of California Press. Chumap Lucía, Aurelio and Manuel García Rendueles. (1979). Degregori, Carlos Ivan (1986). Del Mito del Incarri al Mito del Progreso. Socialismo y Participación 36, 27–46. Duik Múun. Universo Mítico de los Aguaruna. Lima: Centro Amazónico de Antropología y Aplicación Práctica. Esteva, Gustavo (1987). Regenerating People’s Space. In Alternatives: Social Transformation And Human Governance XII, 1, 125–152.

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Esteva, Gustavo (1993). Development. In Wolfgang Sachs (Ed.), The Development Dictionary. (3rd ed.). New Jersey: Zed Books. Ewen, Alexander (1994). Voice of Indigenous Peoples. Santa Fe: Clear Light Publishers. Foucault, Michel (1980). Power/Knowledge. (Colin Gordon, Trans.) New York: Pantheon Books. Freire, Paulo (1994). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum. Hall, Stuart (1996). When Was the ‘Post-Colonial’? Thinking at the Limit. In Ian Chambers and Linda Curti (Ed.), The Post-Colonial Question. New York: Routledge (pp. 242–260). Hobart, Mark (1996). An Anthropological Critique of Development. New York: Routledge. Hornberger, Nancy (1988). Language Planning Orientations and Bilingual Education in Perú. Language Problems and Language Planning. XII, 1, 14–29. Illich, Ivan (1983). Deschooling society. New York: Harper Colophon Books. Illich, Ivan (1993). Needs. In Wolfgang Sachs (Ed.) The Development Dictionary. (3rd ed.). New Jersey: Zed Books. Marzal, Manuel (1989) Historia De La Antropología Indigenista: México y Perú. Lima: Fondo Editorial, Pontificia Universidad Católica. Maurial, Mahia (1995). El Impacto de la Educación Escolarizada y no Escolarizada en la Comunidad de Callatiac, valle del Vilcanota, Cusco. Montoya, Rodrigo (1979). Lucha por la Tierra, Reformas Agrarias y Capitalismo en el Perú del Siglo XX. Lima: Mosca Azul Editores. Montoya, Rodrigo (1990). Por una Educación Bilingüe en el Perú. Reflexiones Sobre Cultura y Socialismo. Lima: CEPES, Mosca Azul. Orr, David W. (1992). Ecological Literacy. Education and the Transition to a Postmodern World. Albany: State University of New York Press. Orr, D. (1994). Earth in Mind. On Education, Environment and Human Prospect. Washington, DC: Island Press. Ortiz R., Alejandro (1973). De Adaneva a Inkarrí. Lima: Retablo de Papel.


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Post, David (1994). Through a Glass Darkly? Indigeneity, Information, and the Image of the Peruvian University. Higher Education 27, 271–295. Pozzi-Escot, Inés and Javier Zorrilla. (1994). Educación Rural: Estado de la Cuestión y Perfiles de una Propuesta en Atención a un Nuevo Proyecto Educativo Nacional. In Foro Educativo (ED.), Protagonistas de la Educacion Rural y Urbana en el Perú. Lima: Foro Educativo. Resumen de tesis. Anthropológica del Departamento de Ciencias Sociales, XIII, 13, 271–276. Semali, Ladislaus (1995). Postliteracy in the Age of Democracy. Bethesda: Austin and Winfield. Shiva, Vandana (1993). Resources. In Wolfgang Sachs (Ed.), The Development Dictionary. (3rd ed.). New Jersey: Zed Books. Valladolid Rivera, Julio (1995). Andean Peasant Agriculture: Nurturing a Diversity of Life in the Chacra. Regeneration in the Andes. Series: Endogenous and Vernacular Alternatives. 5. No 126, 18–56. Varese, Stefano (1996). The New Environmentalist Movement of Latin American Indigenous People. In Brush Steven and Doreen Stabinsky (Eds.), Valuing Local Knowledge. (pp. 122–142). Washington, DC: Island Press. Wachtel, Nathan (1977). The Vision of the Vanquished. Hassocks, Sussex: The Harvester Press Limited. Warman, A. (1982). Indigenous Thought. In Hussein Fahim (Ed.), Indigenous Anthropology in Non-Western Countries, Proceeding of a Burgwartenstein Symposium, (pp. 75–96). Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. World Commission on Environment and Development (1987). Our Common Future. New York: Oxford University Press.

CHAPTER THREE

Indigenous Knowledge as a Component of the School Curriculum June M.George1 Introduction The growing interest in indigenous knowledge is perhaps directly related to growing concerns about degradation of the environment. However, environmental management is only one of the areas in which good use can be made of indigenous knowledge. This chapter explores the role that indigenous knowledge could and should play in the public school system in the developing country context of Trinidad and Tobago, West Indies. The focus will be on the potential role of indigenous knowledge in science education in Trinidad and Tobago. Trinidad and Tobago are an oil-producing, Twin-island republic, situated at the southern end of the chain of islands in the Caribbean. Like many of these islands, Trinidad and Tobago were formerly a British colony and gained independence from Britain in 1962. They became a Republic in 1976. The population of Trinidad and Tobago is about 1.3 million, consisting of two main ethnic groupings—people of African descent and people of East Indian descent. The indigenous knowledge described in the verbatim extracts, and in some of the discussion comes from a rural village in Trinidad which will be called Seablast. In this coastal village, fishing and agriculture are the main occupational pursuits of villagers. Nearly all of the villagers are of African descent. Other examples of indigenous knowledge cited are drawn from Trinidad and Tobago in general. The chapter begins with an exploration of the concept “indigenous knowledge.” This is followed by a brief overview of some forms of expression of indigenous knowledge and some of the areas in the school curriculum in which indigenous knowledge can have an impact. The

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possible impact in the area of science education is expanded upon and some related pedagogical issues are explored. What Counts as Indigenous Knowledge? The terms “indigenous knowledge,” “traditional knowledge,” “lay beliefs,” and “common sense beliefs” are to be found dotted throughout the literature. These are terms that are used to denote the knowledge that has evolved in a particular societal context and which is used by lay people in that context in the conduct of their lives. Often, the term has been used to refer to knowledge possessed and used by people in non-Western, non-industrialized, traditional settings. However, the point has been made that this type of knowledge must also exist in Western settings (Serrano, 1996). Indigenous knowledge differs from school knowledge in several ways. Indigenous knowledge is not normally generated by planned procedures and rules. Instead, it is generated as lay people seek to find solutions to problems in their day-to-day lives by drawing on existing societal wisdom and other local resources that may be available, and by using a fair amount of intuition and creativity. Typically, the knowledge generated is passed on from one generation to the next in the oral mode, although, within recent times, there have been concerted efforts to document and store such knowledge. With few exceptions, indigenous knowledge is not to be found on the school curriculum that is a position reserved for academic knowledge that has been sanctioned by communities of scholars over the years. Although indigenous knowledge is generated in specific local contexts in response to specific local problems, it is often influenced by knowledge generated in other settings. This occurs when people in the local context come into contact with other forms of knowledge, often from people who wield some kind of power. For example, I have found that people in Seablast incorporate knowledge gained from the local health facility or from school science in re-defining their indigenous knowledge. The following extracts from interviews with people in the village illustrate this: Well, you know we have a tradition here that children shouldn’t play in the rain, but then, in other countries children play in the rain but nothing happens. But here, as soon as the children play in the rain or if they open a tap and they get wet, they usually catch colds. I don’t know if it’s because their resistance is low or

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(it is because of) diet. I really don’t know but I know these children are very prone to little colds right around here when they get wet. (Informant: Female; Age 60+; Retired primary school principal) Q. How about girls? There is a belief that when girls are menstruating they shouldn’t climb fruit trees? A. They say that they spoil the fruit trees. I don’t know…there is some little thing in that science. I tell you I had a beautiful pepper tree and a girl came and ask for peppers. Two days after the pepper tree died. So when a man came he looked at it and said “Ah ha!” “Somebody wasn’t healthy pick that pepper.” That pepper tree really died in 3 days, so there must be some sort of science in this business. And they say if the (menstruating) girls climb the fruit tree the fruit will get sour. Those are real things because it has been proven. It’s really proven that these things do happen. I don’t know if it is because of that odor the fruit trees naturally get sour, but I know that something happens. I’ve had that sort of experience. I don’t know how to explain that, but I know something happens. Because I had a beautiful guava given to me by Mr. Whales a beautiful guava, very large—and he planted it right there and a girl climbed it and the fruit suddenly got very small and the tree began dying. So, I really don’t know. There are things that happen. You have to wonder really if it is that or some sort of bacteria in the soil caused the thing, so I don’t know. (Informant: Female; Age 60+; Retired primary school principal) In my small days my mother didn’t know much about these cereals—Nestum. They would use things like cassava, plantain, arrowroot…. They use these things to make real cereal for their children. Take cassava. You grate the cassava, you wring out the water and put it to dry. You then pound it in a mortar and you get a fine piece of netting and you sift it and you get flour and you mix that with a little milk and you eat that. And the same thing goes for the plantain. Plantain is one of the most nutritious food it have. It have all the food value you could think about. You get a very full plantain, peel it, slice it, dry it in the sun and you grind it after and mix it with any cereal. (Informant: Male; Age 51; Carpenter)

In the first two extracts quoted above, an attempt is made to use conventional science to validate personal experience. Conventional science suggests that an individual’s resistance to disease would be low if the level of nutrition is poor. Also, conventional science teaches that bacteria can affect the health of plants. In the third

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extract, conventional science terms such as “cereal” and “food value” are employed to sing the praises of traditional modes of nutrition. The point to be noted here is that the indigenous knowledge is not static; external sources of knowledge have an impact on it. All aspects of indigenous knowledge may not be held sacrosanct by all members of the community. I have found that young people in the village, who generally have had far greater exposure to school science than their parents, display some ambivalence to the indigenous knowledge. The young people were aware of many of the beliefs and practices, disputed some, and held on to others. It is interesting to note that, at times, the young people’s decision to embrace the indigenous knowledge was based on their personal experiences and/or a respect for the authority of elders. For example: Q. Tell me about heat and cold. A.

You must bathe first and then iron because when you iron first the heat does be in your body and then when you go and bathe is real problem.

A.

Miss, when I ironing I does feel the heat in my tummy because of how short I am. So, like if I go in the fridge, when you hear my period coming is real problems.

Q. So, you practice that? You don’t iron and then bathe. A.

Miss, I take the chance and go in the refrigerator when my grandmother is not looking, but to say go and bathe, no.

Q. Everybody agreed upon not bathing after ironing? A.

Yes (A CHORUS).

Q. Anything else besides ironing? A. If I have to bake on a Saturday afternoon I bathe around three o’clock before I take the heat so afterwards I don’t have to go outside for any reason. They (older folk) say when you come from school don’t go and bathe immediately or when you get up on mornings don’t go and bathe. Don’t put your foot on cold concrete when you take off the shoes or you will catch the cold.

Indigenous Knowledge and School Curriculum A.

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My tonsils would swell if I do that. (Informants: High school girls; Age 16+)

This short exploration of the concept “indigenous knowledge” serves to illustrate that the concept is not easily defined. Yet, children growing up in a community that is rich in indigenous knowledge must be influenced by it and there is some evidence to support the view that children bring conceptions from their indigenous knowledge to formal classes in school (Hewson & Hamlyn, 1984; Jegede & Okebukola, 1987; Rice & Gunstone, 1986). Later in this chapter, some aspects of this influence are explored. Forms of Expression of Indigenous Knowledge The extracts presented above exemplify indigenous knowledge pertaining to practices and beliefs associated with various aspects of daily living and expressed in normal, everyday language. Some indigenous knowledge may also be embedded in indigenous technologies that have evolved in the community over time. Sometimes, the indigenous knowledge is expressed in special prose, poetry, and drama; for example, as stories, calypsos, proverbs, jokes, and chants. In these latter forms, the indigenous knowledge is often used for entertainment, but a careful analysis, would reveal that these forms are rich sources of national and regional history, social analysis and criticism. Calypsos are particularly powerful, because they are created on current themes. Generally, they are created by lay people, although, in recent times, professionals such as high school teachers, university lecturers, doctors, and lawyers have been engaging in the art form. Calypsos typically consist of three or four verses and a chorus, set to music that is characterized by its rhythm as “calypso music.” Calypsos serve well to document history, to highlight and comment on current social and political issues, and even to prophesy (that is, to tell forth). For example, a calypso that has attracted much attention in Trinidad and Tobago in the recent past is one that is severely critical of the Common Entrance examination that is used to place students in the various types of secondary schools in Trinidad and Tobago. The composer/singer of this calypso owns a bar in a rural district in Trinidad.

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While calypsos exist in an extended form, proverbs present the message succinctly in a few words. For example, the proverb: “Cow horn never too heavy for he head” (The cow’s horns are never too heavy for its head) carries the admonition that one should shoulder one’s responsibilities with diligence. Like other forms of indigenous knowledge, the imagery used is drawn from everyday experiences. Indigenous Knowledge as a Tool for Promoting Learning In whatever form the indigenous knowledge may exist, it has the potential of impacting on the teaching/learning situation in significant ways. Since this knowledge arises directly out of the children’s real life experiences, its incorporation into school-work can serve to motivate students as they begin to see that recognition is given to what they do and say in their communities. It should be noted, too, that the inclusion of students’ prior knowledge in the school curriculum fits squarely into the constructivist philosophy (both Piagetian constructivism and radical constructivism) that learners abstract understanding from experience. Thus, the experiences that students bring to the classroom are an important component of the learning equation. In some instances, indigenous knowledge may be used to teach language, to explore values, to recount history, to analyze changes in attitudes over time, and so on. Furthermore, indigenous knowledge that deals with practices and beliefs with respect to the conduct of one’s life may be used in science classes to permit students to evaluate the relative effectiveness of indigenous knowledge and school knowledge for the conduct of their own lives. However, the process of using indigenous knowledge in the classroom is not a simple one. The main hurdle to be overcome is the fact that indigenous knowledge is not normally “packaged” as school materials are. The school teacher must, therefore, first access the indigenous knowledge, then understand it and its likely relation to what is to be taught in the class. Furthermore, (s)he must devise teaching strategies for using it effectively. These are unfamiliar activities for many teachers, and some of the issues to be considered and the skills to be developed in this process will be discussed later. As indicated above, indigenous knowledge may be used in the teaching of several school subjects. However, the discussion that follows focuses on the potential use of indigenous knowledge in the teaching of school science.


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Indigenous Knowledge and Conventional School Science A community’s practices and beliefs pertaining to the conduct of its members’ lives often deal with the same content areas that are dealt with in conventional science. For example, many communities have practices and beliefs that pertain to child rearing, menstruation, pregnancy, childbirth, post partum care, human nutrition, plant growth and nutrition, food preparation and preservation, medicine, and so on. All of the areas listed here (and several others as well) are also covered by conventional science. If science teachers are to make effective use of indigenous knowledge in their science classes, they must have a clear understanding of the relationship between the traditional practices and beliefs in their community and conventional science. Elsewhere, (George, 1986) I have suggested that, at the content level, the relationship between indigenous knowledge from Trinidad and Tobago and conventional science may be described using four categories: CATEGORY 1 The indigenous practice can be explained in conventional science terms. For example, the indigenous practice of using a mixture of lime juice and salt to remove rust stains from clothes, can be explained in conventional science in terms of acid/oxide reactions. CATEGORY 2 A conventional science explanation for the indigenous knowledge seems likely, but is not yet available. For example, a brew made from the plant “vervine” (Stachytarpheta) is used in the treatment of worms in children. This plant is considered in conventional science circles to have pharmacological properties, but appropriate usage has not been verified. CATEGORY 3 A conventional science link can be established with the indigenous knowledge, but the underlying principles are different. For example, the indigenous admonition that eating sweet foods causes diabetes links diabetes with sugars, as does conventional science. However, whereas the indigenous system claims that sugars cause diabetes, conventional science claims that when one is a diabetic, the ingestion of sugars can worsen one’s condition. CATEGORY 4 The indigenous knowledge cannot be explained in conventional science terms. For example, there is no conventional science explanation for the indigenous knowledge claim that if one cuts one’s hair when the moon is full, the hair will grow back to an increased length.

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With an understanding of the categorization of the indigenous knowledge with respect to conventional science, the science teacher would be better positioned to plan effectively for science classes. Those aspects of the indigenous knowledge that fall into Category 1 can be used to highlight similarities within the two systems (much of the indigenous knowledge associated with the technologies in use in rural communities would be classified in Category 1). Students could be actively engaged in trying to provide a conventional science explanation for their everyday practices. Such strategies can serve to generate interest among students and to develop pride in the knowledge and wisdom of their ancestors. Category 3 concepts can also be explored by students in this way and the point of departure with conventional science can be highlighted and discussed. Indigenous knowledge falling in Category 2 and Category 4 would need to be treated differently. Though Category 2 statements would appear to be a fertile area for research, the reality is that the nature of the research needed to probe these practices is likely to be beyond the capabilities of students, even at the upper secondary level. However, such indigenous knowledge could also be used in science classes to highlight the fact that there is still much to be explored and understood in our world. Category 4 knowledge is likely to present the science teacher with the biggest challenge. Teachers will need to lay down the differences between the indigenous knowledge and conventional science, to highlight the purposes served by Category 4 indigenous knowledge, and to illustrate that in the conduct of our lives, we sometimes draw on different knowledge systems. The overall aim of the teacher in this regard should be to expose students to both knowledge systems so that students would be better empowered to make their own decisions about how they would wish to conduct their lives. At a higher, philosophical level, teachers will also need to understand the world view(s) existing in the community from which the students come and in which the indigenous knowledge is in use. Kearney (1984, p. 1) describes world view as “those dynamically interrelated cognitive assumptions of a people that determine much of their behavior and decision-making as well as organizing much of their body of symbolic creations—myth, religion, cosmology— and ethnophilosophy in general.” These over-arching pre-suppositions may or may not coincide with those of conventional science. The science teacher would need to be aware of these and to use such knowledge in his/her planning.


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The world view that was unearthed in the village of Seablast can serve as an example. Some of its components can be described as follows: i.

Villagers view nature with respect, contending that it will provide for their physical well-being, once they manage their interaction with it appropriately. This interaction may involve co-operating with the environment, controlling the environment, or exploiting the environment for benefit. Generally, villagers view their interaction with the environment as a symbiotic one. ii. Villagers treat knowledge claims in varying ways. They accept some traditional practices and beliefs by faith. They accept others because they have been found to work well in their lives. Yet others are rejected because they have not been validated in the villagers’ experiences. Villagers accept some conventional science claims on account of the authority of the school or of the conventional science community (usually the medical community). However, they also reject many conventional science claims because these claims do not mesh with the prevailing traditional wisdom. iii. Villagers reason purposefully. Their arguments consist of knowledge claims supported by warrants, forming cohesive argument structures. Villagers’ personal experiences constitute a high percentage of the warrants that they use. (George, 1995) In each of these components of the world view described above, one can detect similarities and differences with conventional science. The villager treats nature with respect and acknowledges that nature can provide all that is necessary for his/her well-being. The villager sees his/her task as that of managing the interaction with nature effectively so as to derive maximum benefit. Over the years, conventional science has perpetuated an attitude of dominance over nature. Within recent times, though, the impact of the degradation of the environment, which has resulted largely from the wanton use of nature’s resources by human beings, has contributed to a growing awareness in conventional science circles that natural resources must be managed effectively. Villagers’ treatment of knowledge claims is another area in which differences with conventional science surface. Villagers accept some aspects of the indigenous knowledge by faith. The general philosophy in such instances is that what has been proven and tested by the elders overtime is of worth. Issues of evidence, objectivity, and impartiality of the observer do not just arise, as would be the case in conventional

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science. On the other hand, villagers would sometimes reject both the indigenous knowledge and conventional science if their personal experiences would lead them to think otherwise. A high premium is placed on one’s personal experiences, and the experiences of others who are held in high regard. This method of operating differs significantly from that of conventional science. The high value accorded personal experiences is also evident in the ways in which villagers argue. As is the case with formal arguments used in conventional science, villagers attempt to put forward cohesive argument structures. Warrants for their arguments are often based on personal experiences, although other forms of evidence are also evident. A single occurrence of an event may be enough evidence on which a villager would form a generalization, if that occurrence resulted in a significant impact being made on the villager. Scientific arguments would not contain warrants that are based on personal experiences. Instead, such arguments would use logic and other established scientific knowledge as warrants. Also, generalizations are made in conventional science only after considerable supporting evidence has been established. It is therefore evident that there are benefits that can be gained if science teachers understand the communities from which their charges come and use this knowledge in their teaching strategies. For example, if it is discovered that, in their out-of-school lives, students use their personal experiences extensively in their arguments, then science teachers should endeavor to provide their students with an extensive explication of the differences between how the students argue and how scientists argue. If this is ignored, students may easily use their everyday form of arguments in their science class work and this would not be appropriate in the context of conventional science. Again, the overall aim of the science teacher should be to lay down similarities and differences between the two systems. A more detailed example of the potential of indigenous knowledge for use in the school curriculum may be provided through an examination of villagers’ conception of “heat” and its effect on the functioning of the human body. Villagers use the concept of “heat” and an associated equilibrium principle for managing their interaction with the environment. The human body is thought to be capable of tolerating a certain amount of “heat.” The concept “heat” here sometimes refers to the thermal state of the body, and sometimes refers to an intrinsic property of the body. One accumulates “heat” in the body by eating a lot of “heated” foods, and also as a result of certain


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body processes such as menstruation. The blood is the medium of transport of “heat.” If the level of “heat” that the body can tolerate is exceeded, certain illnesses can result; for example, itching, diarrhoea, excessive thirst, and pimples. To get rid of excess “heat”, one must counteract it by eating “cooling” foods. One can also accumulate “heat” by being involved in activities such as sleeping, ironing, playing in the sun, and so on. This concept of “heat” that is held by villagers can be thought of as an abstract concept, of the same order as postulated entities in conventional science. No one claims to have seen “heat.” It is thought to exist because of certain physical manifestations. The concept is, therefore, a creation of the mind which serves to help make sense of the world. Concepts in conventional science serve a similar purpose. Science teachers in a context such as this can use the concept of “heat” in science classes. It can be used to establish similarities in the ways in which concepts function in everyday life as well as in conventional science. It can also be used as a Category 4 concept to illustrate differences between the indigenous knowledge and the conventional science conception of heat. Villagers also believe there must be an appropriate equilibrium balance between the temperature of the human body and the temperature of the environment if the individual is to enjoy good health. This balance can be maintained by avoiding sudden temperature changes and by avoiding exposure to water when the body is in a “heated state.” Thus, for example, one should “cool off” after playing in the sun, before one takes a bath, in order to establish the equilibrium position between the temperature of the human body and the temperature of the surroundings. Conventional science teaches that the metabolic reactions that take place in our cells are facilitated by a constant environment. Cells are surrounded by tissue fluid and, for proper functioning of the cells, the temperature and concentration of the tissue fluid must be kept at a constant level. This occurs through the process of homeostasis. It is thought that the temperature in the cells is controlled mainly by the skin, whereas the kidney controls the amount of water. The skin regulates the core temperature (the temperature of the tissue just below the skin) by the processes of radiation, convection, and conduction. The rate of heat loss from the skin depends on the amount of blood flowing through it. The rate of blood flow is controlled by a series of muscle contractions and the entire process is controlled by the

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thermoregulatory center in the hypothalamus in the brain. Endothermic animals (such as human beings) are able to regulate the amount of heat lost from the body so that an equilibrium position is maintained between the body’s core temperature and the temperature of the surroundings. This principle, termed homeostasis in conventional science, has the same basis as the temperature equilibrium principle outlined by villagers. However, the explanation of how equilibrium is attained contrasts sharply in the two systems. The blood is viewed as the medium for the transport of heat in both systems. In conventional science, it is thought that the control of the core temperature is automatic, once the relevant parts of the body are functioning properly. In the traditional mode, the maintenance of the temperature equilibrium is not automatic. The individual must consciously take steps to ensure that the equilibrium position is maintained or restored. Typically, this is done by employing the principle of opposites, that is, using “cool” foods and brews to counteract “heat” and by allowing the body to attain steady state conditions by “cooling off” after sleeping, playing in the sun, and so on. The hot/cold theory and the related equilibrium principle pervade the indigenous knowledge system in Seablast. They serve as a link, unifying various aspects of villagers’ lives. They serve as a tool to facilitate prediction of what would happen to the human body under particular conditions. They are also used in a post hoc manner to make sense of situations after the event. In short, they provide a sense of order and allow villagers to analyze their state within their total environment. Theories and principles function in a similar manner in conventional science. Science teachers in a context such as Seablast can therefore use these aspects of village life to explore the role of theories and principles with their students and to compare and contrast the presuppositions underpinning the theories and principles prevalent in the village with those in conventional science with respect to these aspects of the functioning of the human body and their interaction with the environment. Some Issues for Further Consideration The position that has been advanced in this chapter is that indigenous knowledge abounds in many communities, particularly in rural communities, and students growing up in such communities interface with this knowledge on a daily basis. Students use at least some of this knowledge in the conduct of their daily lives. It is important that


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this knowledge be recognized and valued at the level of the school curriculum, and that it be incorporated into the teaching/learning process. With specific reference to the teaching of science, it is important that science teachers first understand the relevant indigenous knowledge, both at the level of concepts and principles and at the level of the presuppositions that guide action. This would equip them to plan and employ teaching/learning strategies in science that highlight and value indigenous knowledge, that lay down similarities and differences between indigenous knowledge and conventional school science, and that empower students to be able to evaluate both systems and to make informed choices for the conduct of their lives. One issue that must be explored is the content that should be included in the science curriculum. Historically, science curricula at the primary school and the lower levels of the secondary school have been designed to include concepts which will serve as building blocks for concepts to be studied at the upper secondary level and at the university. It is now widely accepted that this orientation suits the small percentage of students who will continue to study science, but hardly anyone else (Fensham, 1992). It is not surprising that the concept of “heat,” though it exists in several traditional societies, does not surface in conventional science texts. It does not surface because it is not a conventional science concept. It would surface, though, if the content of the curriculum were based more authentically on the life experiences of students. Such an approach should motivate at least some of the students. I have had the good fortune, during one of my visits to Seablast, to witness an eruption in a science class of otherwise dis-interested students when their teacher suggested that they were animals. The atmosphere became charged as students drew on their experiences with animals at home to indicate the ways in which they were different. I have witnessed similar types of responses in other schools where teacher trainees of whom I was in charge tried to use authentic experiences of students in their science teaching. This motivational factor is an important reason for giving serious consideration to the suggested approach to science teaching. Special attention must also be paid to the teachers. It has already been emphasized that the science teacher would need to have a full understanding of the indigenous knowledge system operating in the communities from which his/her students come. Since there is very little documentation of such systems, this approach would call for a great deal of pioneering research work. Classroom teachers are not likely to have the time to carry out such research work and may therefore

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need the support of other education personnel, such as science educators in faculties and departments of education. It should also be noted that the science teacher in a context such as Seablast is a product of the society and perhaps also constructs meaning from an indigenous base. If this is so, then there are important implications here for teacher education programs. The teacher-trainee must first come to an understanding of his/her world view and the relationship between this and the conventional science world view. There is also the need to highlight in science teacher education programs that conventional science is one way of knowing, which serves to explain and predict, but which is not unique in this respect. Teacher-trainees need to be encouraged to develop an understanding of, and appreciation for, the traditional wisdom, its characteristics, and the purposes that it serves in the lives of students. It may well be that the students’ world views are not all the same and some may even differ from the teacher’s world view. The teacher-trainee needs to be trained to deal with such complex situations in the classroom in the attempt to make conventional science accessible to students. The approaches suggested above would require a radical reorientation of teacher education programs and of school science teaching in contexts with a strong indigenous knowledge base. However, if any progress is to be made in the quest for better science education, we may have no choice but to grapple with such drastic changes. The ultimate goal is to facilitate the empowering of students with an indigenous knowledge base to understand and evaluate what conventional science has to offer, and to make judicious choices between their indigenous knowledge and conventional science when such situations arise. Endnote 1. The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the valuable comments made on an earlier version of this paper by Dr. Joyce Glasgow. References Fensham, P.J. (1992). Science and technology. In P.W.Jackson (Ed.), Handbook of research on curriculum (pp. 789–829). New York: Macmillan. George, J. (1986). “Street Science”—An analysis of science-related social beliefs of secondary school students in Trinidad and Tobago. Unpublished Master’s thesis, Queen’s University at Kingston, Ontario.


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George, J. (1995). An analysis of traditional practices and beliefs in a Trinidadian village to assess the implications for science education. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, The University of the West Indies, St. Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago. Hewson, M. & Hamlyn, D. (1984). The influence of intellectual environment on conceptions of heat. European Journal of Science Education, 6 (3), 245–262. Jegede, O.J., & Okebukola, P.A. (1987, November). Socio-cultural factors in science classrooms: Their measurement and relationship to anxiety. Paper presented at the Nigerian Educational Research Association Conference, Nsukka, Nigeria. Kearney, M. (1984). World view. California: Chandler and Sharp. Rice, P., & Gunstone, R. (1986). Health and sickness causation and the influence of Thai culture among Thai school children. Research in Science Education, 16, 63–72. Serrano, R.C. (1996, April). [Letter to the editor]. Indigenous Knowledge Monitor, 4, 14–16. Bibliography of Further Readings Cobern, W. (1991). World view theory and science education research (NARST Monograph No.3). Kansas: National Association for Research in Science Teaching. Costa, V.B. (1995). When science is “another world”: Relationships between worlds of family, friends, school and science. Science Education, 79 (3), 313–333. George, J., & Glasgow, J. (1988). Street science and conventional science in the West Indies. Studies in Science Education, 15, 109– 118. Hills, G.L. (1989). Students’ “untutored” beliefs about natural phenomena: Primitive science or common sense? Science Education, 73 (2), 155–186. Layton, D., Jenkins, E., Macgill, S., & Davey, A. (1993). Inarticulate science? Perspectives on the public understanding of science and some implications for science education. Driffield, East Yorkshire: Studies in Education Ltd. Pomeroy, D. (1992). Science across cultures: Building bridges between traditional western and Alaskan native sciences. In S.Hills (Ed.), The history and philosophy of science in science education, Vol. II, Proceedings of the Second International Conference on the History and Philosophy of Science and Science Teaching (pp.

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? 257–267). Kingston, Ontario: The Mathematics, Science, Technology and Teacher Education Group and Faculty of Education, Queen’s University.

CHAPTER FOUR

Community as Classroom: (Re)Valuing Indigenous Literacy Ladislaus M.Semali [A]t present our pupils learn to despise even their own parents because they are old-fashioned and ignorant; there is nothing in our existing educational system which suggests to the pupil that he [she] can learn important things about farming from his [her] elders. The result is that he [she] absorbs beliefs about witchcraft before he [she] goes to school, but does not learn the properties of local grasses; he [she] absorbs the taboos from his family but does not learn the methods of making nutritious traditional foods. And from school he [she] acquires knowledge unrelated to agricultural life. He [she] gets the worst of both systems! Julius Nyerere, 1968:278

The first president of Tanzania, Julius Nyerere, quoted above, speaks to the central dilemmas I discuss in this article. In much of East Africa as elsewhere throughout Africa prior to the independent movements of the 1960s, Africans were socialized within indigenous contexts.1 Much of African knowledge found in these contexts has never been systematically documented and is being forgotten and replaced by “formal” (modern) education and technology. For Africans, indigenous knowledge is about what local people know and do, and what they have known and done for generations—practices that developed through trial and error and proved flexible enough to cope with change. The ability to use community knowledge so produced from local history, information about flora and fauna, and local medicines for humans and animals to solve problems endemic to the community, forms important literacy skills that are critical to the survival of indigenous peoples. These community oral-aural literacy skills are what I have called in this essay indigenous literacy. In present times, however, as lamented by Nyerere, the oral-aural literacy skills in traditional

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institutions of customary law, land tenure systems, inheritance rights, and rituals, are disappearing partly because of the devaluing or erasure of African knowledge and partly due to changes in power relations inherent in modern techno-industrial culture. As will be shown in this study, indigenous literacy enables rural and remote area communities to use oral testimonies to express themselves in their own terms, employing their language, relating their history, their stories, traditions, songs, theater, and all that goes to make up the repertoire with which individuals communicate among themselves and with others outside their communities. In the formal, Western-style educational system currently in place in Tanzania, this indigenous literacy is typically associated with folk knowledge and hence considered “inferior”; while “modern” education is associated with Western thought and is perceived by Western-oriented educators as the better of the two. The division, problematic from the start, contributes to a widening gap between youth and elders in many rural African contexts and perpetuates a false assumption that modernization is a unidirectional process. A curriculum divided between “indigenous” and “modern” fails to teach students the unique cultural patterns by which people develop and advance their social worlds, and it ignores the ways in which cultural beliefs and practices, ostensibly identified as “modern,” combine with folk and indigenous ways of doing things. Nyerere recognized the importance of conceptualizing indigenous literacy and classroom knowledge as all-of-a-piece three decades ago, yet his vision of an integrated educational system has not been fully implemented. My task in this essay is firstly to define indigenous knowledge, secondly examine the dilemmas that undermine and disregard or undervalue efforts to integrate indigenous literacy in the formal school curriculum, and thirdly outline the rationale for (re)valuing indigenous literacy. My understanding of indigenous knowledge draws largely from theories of knowledge production, constructivist approaches, the cultural politics of imperialism, postcolonialism and poststructuralism, and from perspectives of critical pedagogy, which stand apart from positivist perspectives found in the literature. (See for example, Fensham, Gunstone, & White, 1994; Giroux, 1988; Freire, 1970; Hall, 1996). Much of the conventional positivist and phenomenological literature which aim to critique modernization theory and the dependency model of education are silent about the contested nature of knowledge production. The overarching assumption of this

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study is located within the framework of curriculum development and the nature of knowledge production. Within this framework, this study examines the culture of school as well as the culture of the community within which formal education is situated so as to broaden the understanding of how “school” knowledge intersects with “indigenous” (local) knowledge. Often missing in similar studies is the questioning of the apparent tension between what is intended, planned or what is realized as ends of curriculum, the assumption being that intentions are always altruistic, noble, and neutral and therefore need neither questioning nor further inquiry. The particular perspective of critical inquiry I have taken up in this study can assist to determine discrepancies between curriculum ideals and practices as well as the process that could bring them more into alignment. In contrast to conventional positivist and phenomenological approaches, I focus on questioning the intentions of curriculum practice and the very assumptions underlying the production and reproduction of knowledge embedded in the process of curriculum development and practice. This kind of critical approach is appropriate because it is broadly based on a commitment to social justice—to the ideals of justice as fairness, and the elimination of inequalities and possibilities of marginalization (Rawls, 1971). By taking up a critical evaluation of knowledge in this study, I hope to provide an understanding of critical curriculum inquiry methods, stimulate discussion and application of all person-centered educational ideas and methods, and eventually develop a cogent argument to communicate this understanding to teachers’ practices in Tanzania and perhaps elsewhere in Africa. Defining Indigenous Knowledge (IK) What is indigenous knowledge? Why is there an increased interest in indigenous knowledge? What dilemmas do educators face in valuing indigenous knowledge? To answer these questions, this essay draws heavily on my work in Tanzania. While teaching in Tanzania in the early years of the post-independence era, I struggled like many teachers in African schools to develop relevant and meaningful lessons which met the local needs of students, drawing on examples of the history and wisdom of local people, parents, and grandparents. Unfortunately, many of the examples I used in Tanzanian classrooms were not found in textbooks available at the time. We read, for example, Shakespeare, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Gulliver’s Travels, Greek mythologies,

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and the famous Arabian stories of Alfu-Lela-Ulela and Ali Baba and his seven sons. Missing in these works were examples of local imagery, history, folklore, and African beliefs. Instead, students were taught to value and admire the beliefs, stories, histories, and myths of other nations. For my students, indigenous knowledge was the unofficial knowledge which was essentially anecdotal memories of customary law, inheritance rights, beliefs about witchcraft, taboos, and rituals. This body of knowledge formed the wisdom of how things were done in the village. Contrary to today’s expectations, this body of knowledge was not part of what students ordinarily learned at school. The distinction between indigenous/African and Western/European education was clear. The dichotomy between these knowledge systems did not glorify the similarities. On the contrary, Africans had to find a way to accommodate and make sense of both systems and as a result the two systems competed for attention. Many accounts of the Tanzanian history indicate that schools inherited from the British a colonial system of education, which devalued local knowledge systems as primitive, and taught students to believe that they were inferior and thus, should be satisfied with subservient roles in society (Bray et al., 1986). This orientation also encouraged students to look outside the community for solutions to problems that were endemic among indigenous peoples—from food and medicine to mouse traps. Following independence, this orientation had to be done away with if the new nation was to become self-reliant. Nyerere points to the contrast between indigenous (local/traditional) and colonial (Western/ European) knowledge systems, which in effect represent two separate realities. Since Nyerere’s day, this dilemma has not only remained unresolved, it has become further entrenched in the imported model of schooling. These two realities reflect the dilemmas created by the concept of indigenous knowledge and the way it competes with other knowledge systems. It makes perfect sense for me as an educator to distinguish indigenous knowledge as a category when examining educational systems as pedagogical sites of knowledge production. This category is made possible by identifying the producers of knowledge as distinct actors. The knowledge so produced is neither neutral nor universal. Even though the literature is imprecise when it comes to defining IK in all the contexts within which it is produced, the grassroots research emerging from the agricultural sciences, critical pedagogy, cartography, and the natural sciences, all point to a new awareness and appreciation of local knowledge. (See for example, Brokensha &


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Warren, 1980; Dennis, 1985; Scoones & Thompson, 1994; Shiva, 1989). Recent examples include reports from countries emerging from ethnic conflict, like Angola, Ethiopia, Liberia, Mozambique, and Uganda showing programs in which social workers managed to collect life stories and oral testimony of children and adults, in an attempt to establish their identity and trace their remaining family members displaced by war (Slim & Thompson, 1993:36). As an educator, I am on the frontlines of the production and reproduction of knowledge in classrooms. In my teaching the “rhetoric” of indigenous knowledge is important, because it encourages a discussion which has been suppressed for many years by dominant Euro-Americancentered educational systems. The IK “rhetoric” also stimulates the development of relevant curricula in the area of indigenous knowledge. When I say that curriculum development is concerned with the production of knowledge, I realize that this is a view which goes beyond conventional standards of curriculum as simply a course of study, a compilation of data to be learned. In the sense I mean here, a curriculum devoted to indigenous knowledge encompasses not only epistemological questions related to both the production and consumption of knowledge, but also the relationship between culture and what is defined as successful learning, the competition between all forms of knowledge production, and the purpose of education itself. I suggest that curriculum studies/ curriculum development should devote attention to the process involved in the generation and validation of curriculum content and the fact that some groups of people benefit from the “certification” of certain forms of knowledge, while other groups do not. Recently, in an article entitled “Cultural Conditionally and Aid to Education in East Africa,” Brock-Utne (1995) summarizes much of the neo-liberal critique which characterizes a new awakening to indigenize the curriculum in the post-independence era in Africa. BrockUtne argues that aid from donor countries and bilateral agencies to African education often involves the imposition of conditions that create dependency and undermine indigenous educational patterns. For example, such conditions include the insistence on textbooks written and published abroad, the use of examination systems devised in Europe or North America, and the neglect of African culture and indigenous languages. While these observations are important, I would argue that this apparent neglect is not only emanating from external players but is internal and squarely inherent in the current changes sweeping through indigenous communities themselves. Current changes in the

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family and community at large have allowed “professionals” and “outsiders” to assume increasingly a role that originally belonged to parents, grandparents, and village elders (Danzelot, 1979). To understand the dynamic interplay in African education between foreign and indigenous forces in different periods of time is particularly relevant today especially with the recent movement to involve local communities in education and in the running of schools. However, before planners can jump on the school-family-community partnership bandwagon, they must ask serious questions: Who are the partners? Are they equal partners in the venture or does the partnership reproduce subjugation and inequality? Who benefits from this partnership? What gains in learner outcomes will be realized from the partnership? Another set of questions are directly linked with the local community itself: How can schools in Africa best prepare young people academically and morally for the 21st century? Which community should be involved in helping to run the schools—rural or urban? How can rural indigenous communities participate and guide the education of their children in schools within their local districts?2 Furthermore, what role will the indigenous communities play in implementing current educational reforms? In countries where culturally and religiously diverse societies are undergoing rapid change and in which the extended family system is giving way to urban style nuclear families, education can only be relevant if it provides individuals with the intellectual tools, moral values, and skills needed to cope with the changing situation. In many contemporary settings, however, certain aspects of schooling (for example, the content and organization of curriculum) are structured in ways that differ dramatically from students’ home and out-of-school experiences. What changes in goals and methods must indigenous forms of education and formal curriculum undergo if they are to develop collective values effectively? Can competing indigenous Western, and Islamic forms of education prevalent in Africa today be meaningfully integrated? These questions have eluded educational planners for some time. In an age of rapid change, marked by dramatic conflict between the collective good and individual rights, the discussion of values, and the generation and validation of curriculum content is becoming an increasingly complex and daunting affair. This is even further complicated because the “uniqueness” of indigenous knowledge to a given culture does not necessarily imply that there is internal consensus or that everybody who belongs to the culture shares the same knowledge base for decision-making. No knowledge system, however, can exist


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in a cultural, economic, or political vacuum! To define the purpose of education one must ask related questions such as: Who should decide what is taught in the schools? On the understanding that power relations cannot be separated from knowledge production, theorists must take seriously indigenous—as opposed to Western—forms of knowledge, avoiding the false distinction between school and community. For example, in Tanzania one finds the situation where on the one hand, African students are immersed at birth within a cultural setting that values the authority of elders and emphasizes practical knowledge; on the other hand, they are schooled in a system in which teachers do little to make classroom lessons relevant to life in African villages and in which the authority of elders is devalued and undermined. This dilemma has not been resolved since Nyerere’s time but has only become further ingrained in the system of schooling. It is at the crux of national and international debates about the value of schooling for dissipating ethnic and cultural conflict, and it is at the heart of discussions about the possibility of indigenous communities effectively participating in the education of their children. Scholars engaged in cross-cultural research insist upon the need to look to critical ethnographic methods to examine the culture of school as well as the culture of the community within which the students’ learning is situated in order to broaden the understanding of how “school” knowledge intersects with “indigenous” knowledge and, in turn, to examine how this intersection relates to educational practices.3 In the field of agricultural research and extension, for example, administrators, and researchers maintain that local ways of knowing soil types, trees, crops, ecological changes, traditional healing, land tenure, and inheritance rights are important in sustaining local communities (Scoones & Thompson, 1994). To these researchers, characterizations of African indigenous knowledge systems as “primitive,” “unscientific,” and “wrong,” are flawed. Emerging from a worldwide movement which has been energized by Agenda 21 of the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, environmental education has received an acclaimed recognition as being a critical process in the improvement, conservation, and preservation of the world’s environment and as being closely intertwined with indigenous peoples’ rights (Tokar, 1992). A growing awareness of environmental education stems from a challenge posed by grassroots community groups representing the diverse cultures of the world who are engaged in exploring alternatives to the dominant monocultural

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paradigms in ecology and curriculum. Due to colonial legacy, African governments are inevitably implicated in embracing such monocultural paradigms which ignore and undervalue indigenous languages, ecological literacy, grassroots participatory democracy, voter rights, land rights, intellectual property rights, allocation of government resources, and how these aspects impact school performance and learner outcomes (Wilmer, 1996; UNDP, 1996). Some alternatives clearly articulated by the Earth Summit include lessons and voices from indigenous peoples urging the wider community to be kinder and gentler to the environment— an environment which has been for centuries the source of food, water, medicine, and other natural resources that sustain indigenous peoples in the subaltern countries (Kakonge, 1995). Such lessons coincide with the tenets of environmental education with a focus to change attitudes and behaviors of individuals and society; and to bring about positive social transformation and development of environmental ethics. Valuing African knowledge with such transformative behaviors and attitudes which cherish the incorporation of IK into the solution of ecological problems is a move away from the colonial legacy, which looks outside Africa to the countries of Europe and North America for solutions to problems endemic to indigenous communities. The dilemmas we face in defining IK are central to the postcolonial debate on the origins of knowledge and the manner in which it is produced, archived, retrieved, and distributed. Advocates of IK, far from assuming that the knowledge of the individual defines nature for all time, are the ones who have finally recognized that the distinction has in fact been historically created by the West, and is not rooted in ahistorical traits of humankind. Thus, ignoring this fact has often led to educational reforms based on Western models of science and technology to fail when introduced in a new setting because the “experts” simply did not understand the people they were trying to help and failed to take local knowledge and attitudes into account. Inauspiciously, only a few bilateral agencies from the World Bank to small non-government organizations (NGOs) are making efforts to canvass the views and opinions of people in areas where they intervene, particularly in remote areas. Such feedback undoubtedly highlights the immense difficulties and complexities inherent in creating sustainable patterns of development. But if these voices are ignored, then much development will continue by default to support or create further inequalities. However, development agencies and curriculum planners need not shoulder all the blame for the failure. Indigenous knowledge is not


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always visible, and even when it is, it is not always easy to understand because it is incorporated in a way of life. This suggests, therefore, that the new orientation, which places a high value on indigenous education as a knowledge system to be learned and sustained, is characterized and circumscribed by local history, the environment, language, traditions and culture. These characteristics are, however, unique to a community, even though they are constantly changing. Dilemmas of Curriculum Inquiry and Indigenous Literacy Curriculum inquiry is a method which explores the formulation of curriculum policies, curriculum programs, and the enactment of these policies and programs in classroom practice. The objective of this kind of inquiry is to examine the kinds of information which form the body of knowledge that becomes the source of learning and teaching. Several theories of classroom practice have been put forward in the past decade to explain the interaction between indigenous knowledge and formal school knowledge. Research undertaken by Hawkins and Pea (1987) suggests that knowledge develops as a result of the interaction between an individual and his/her environment in much the same way that biological organisms are biologically adapted to their ecological space. The child is surrounded by a rich cultural setting which Hawkins and Pea define as “objects and events” (p. 249). These “objects and events” are crucial in the construction of knowledge that the student brings into the classroom. The “objects and events,” which are particular to every culture and locality, may include the interaction of objects and events such as media, people, plants, animals, building structures, informal learning situations, and the practices of institutions such as churches or schools. This interaction of “objects and events” found and unique to every culture facilitates how one constructs and produces knowledge. When students can bring into science laboratories their discovery and knowledge construction based on local botanical resources (e.g., knowledge about local plants, birds, animals, water sources, local conservation techniques, medicinal herbs, etc.), such efforts demonstrate the production of alternative ways of knowing things, and of keeping alive alternative forms of knowledge production. This alternative form of indigenous knowledge production is what we have come to identify as indigenous literacy. Indigenous literacy is therefore a competency that individuals in a community have acquired and developed over time— part experience, part custom, religion, customary law, and the attitudes of people toward their own lives and the social and physical environment.

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Indigenous or local perceptions and uses of literacy, then, may differ from those of the dominant culture, and must be taken into account in order to understand the literacy experiences of different peoples. All of this represents a different picture from that often presented by those urban educators who see only “ignorance” or “backwardness” in the village communities. According to Street (1995), the over-emphasis on this urban perspective of literacy, means that educators often fail to identify those features of local literacy and culture most likely to facilitate adaptation to the new economic order. Rather than seeking to impose a particular literacy and ideology on rural life, Street insists, observers might have looked at how the villagers themselves perceived the different literacies to which they were exposed and how they made pragmatic adaptations to serve their particular interests. These examples emphasize what Street found in Iran, and concurs with my own findings in Tanzania, that literacy is not being introduced entirely fresh to “illiterate” populations. Rather, most people have some experience of forms of literacy, as in the case of Iran, through traditional religious texts, or as in many other circumstances, through exposure, however, minimal, to the commercial literacy of local elites or neighboring cultures. In many of the cases the reality is of a mix of oral and literate conventions. The introduction of specific forms of literacy through formal school and bilateral agency campaigns does not represent the introduction of an entirely new process but rather a shift in those conventions (Street, 1995:42–43). Street’s research confirms what advocates of alternative ways of knowing have believed for years, that bringing together what people say and think in the form of oral testimony, and then communicating those testimonies to the wider community, is one way of valuing indigenous literacy and of correcting a bias which runs deep through the whole development debate and dictates the majority of development initiatives. Clearly, valuing local literacies is a way of giving volume and power to the voices of people who are outside the development establishment and a way of ensuring that they are heard. Short of such alternative considerations, the prevalent monocultural paradigm will persist. In the monocultural paradigm, written documentation and official records always reveal more about the concerns of the political elite than those without political influence, about landowners rather than laborers, about men rather than women, about the educated rather than the uneducated, and about the public rather than private life (Slim & Thompson, 1993:13). Valuing indigenous literacy, therefore, offers new perspectives on these relationships.


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From a political standpoint, the fall of communism in the former Soviet Union and the spread of democratic systems of government in countries in Eastern Europe, Latin America, and Africa have sparked dialogue and policies about how to promote parental and community participation in educational processes. The notion of partnerships is confusing at best. Not all schools and not all schools in all African countries are at the same point in their work on partnerships. In Tanzania, for example, it is not clear at this stage how many partnerships envisaged in the current educational reform will focus or are focusing on parent participation, or on school councils. Whatever the reasons for this trend, there is a strong common desire to make schools more effective institutions of learning. Concurrent with this goal is the realization that schools neither exist nor function in a vacuum. In order for schools to effectively educate all youth, families and communities must become full partners in the process. But how can schools and community become full partners while schools devalue and disregard the local knowledge produced by the community with which it is a partner? Part of the local knowledge that schools must value is precisely what Street calls a mix of oral and literacy conventions at village or local level and the kind of “objects and events” suggested by Hawkins and Pea. Understanding the interplay of “objects and events” in the constructed nature of knowledge provides rightly the rationale for integrating indigenous knowledge in classroom teaching practice. According to constructivist approaches, scholars classify constructivism under the philosophical paradigm of pragmatism which American educator John Dewey (1983) played a major role in creating. As outlined by Fensham, Gunstone, & White (1994), the construction of understanding and meaning is complex and indeed an active task for both the teacher and the student. It involves: • •

• •

bringing each student’s prior knowledge and experiences to the subject area; participating actively in learning experiences which challenge, elaborate, and revise a student’s ideas or thinking, and which in turn expands or redesigns the student’s knowledge; teaching by guiding the students to question, ponder, discuss, and reach conclusions; teaching by providing a fair, open, honest, and supportive learning environment.

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Through this constructivist methodology, students can generate an interest and ownership in the subject matter, because it is relevant to the learner and because the subject matter is rooted or based on students’ prior knowledge, history, and culture. It would seem that many opportunities are lost when prior knowledge of indigenous ways of knowing things are ignored by teachers. Opportunities to teach language skills by describing native plants in the students’ gardens, or recounting the local history of local heroes and heroines, can enhance connections between what is learned in the classroom and what the student already knows outside the classroom. One of the findings emerging from curriculum inquiry and from constructivist methodology is that scientific knowledge largely found in formal schools and which is available to the public, is often not used in its pure form, but is instead integrated with other types of existing knowledge (Layton, 1991). Teachers often overlook this basic principle of pedagogy. Often, there is more interaction than readily admitted, between knowledge, which emanates from science (i.e., what is actually learned as new knowledge) in relation to a particular situation or problem, and the understanding and dispositions which students themselves bring to bear—that is, the meaning-making processes that occur as part of a rationalization of what they already know and what they learn as new. What they already know forms their indigenous literacies. Indigenous literacies provide an important database for any follow-up to learning. When I say indigenous literacies I refer to a complex set of abilities students bring to the classrooms, abilities which span their life-time from employing their indigenous language to relating their history, their stories of everyday life, traditions, poetry, songs, theater, proverbs, dreams, epistemology, and all that goes to make up the necessary skills and how they make pragmatic adaptations to communicate complex matters among themselves and with others outside their communities. At community level, the testimony of these individual voices reveals the experience of hidden groups, and counters the bias of those who speak for these groups or those who try to ignore them. Such testimony has the capacity to break down generalizations, misinterpretations, and misinformation about communities, their economies, needs, power structures, social organization, and goals. While this may complicate the design of relief and development projects, it may well ultimately make them more equitable and effective (Slim & Thompson, 1993:5). It is misleading, therefore, to assume that students come to school ready to learn as empty vessels. Freire (1970:52–67) was emphatic,


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and rightly so, in his critique of the banking method of education in which students are seen as passive depositories of knowledge digested by the teacher and where the teacher is the active depositor. To overcome this apparent teacher-student contradiction in the construction of knowledge addressed by Freire, teachers can fill the gap, firstly by encouraging students to become active producers of scientific knowledge as well as consumers. By acknowledging students as knowers and by letting students bring to school their indigenous literacy skills which they already know, the classroom becomes an interactive environment of knowledge production which engages both the student and the teacher. Secondly, by acknowledging teachers as partners and creators of curriculum, teachers are given the responsibility to actively participate in the design and development of curriculum. As rightly acknowledged by Shiva (1993), by allowing students to apply their indigenous literacy skills in classrooms, students are empowered with ownership of knowledge that “renders impotent the dominant culture which, if unchallenged, might eliminate the use and value of local botanical alternatives, traditions, and other forms of knowledge intimately associated with the unique culture of the locality” (p. 60). If the study of science and mathematics are to capture the interest of students and challenge their intellect, indigenous literacy must be valued. One way to value indigenous literacy is through the integration of indigenous knowledge of botanical resources in science curriculum as a critical means to explore and discover scientific concepts and inquiry procedures (Kroma, 1995). But few recent studies have adequately addressed the interaction between indigenous and school practices as overlapping pedagogical sites (Daun, 1992). This lack of research by no means suggests that schools are unimportant sites for ethnic education, however. Decline of the Role of Local Communities As surmised by Brock-Utne (1995), few successful attempts have been made in contemporary Africa to indigenize the curriculum. Equally difficult have been attempts to integrate indigenous, Koranic, Islamic, and Western forms of education. Even though there was a flurry of conferences and historical studies examining such integration in several African countries between the early 1970s and mid-1980s, few such efforts survived the initial euphoria. (See Erny, 1981; Eshiwani, 1993; Fafunwa & Aisiku, 1982; Prewitt, 1971). An important area where one could perhaps seek insights and knowledge that bear upon

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indigenizing the curriculum is communal education. For many Tanzanians the community is the principal educator as implied in the often cited African adage: “It takes a village to raise a child.” This proverb is illustrated by the African maxim: “One white ant does not build an ant hill,” which reflects the underlying tradition of community involvement in providing education. The assumption is that when learning is matched with local needs, education, whether indigenous or formal, can have a galvanizing effect on the lives of learners. To reevaluate community involvement is one strategy for acknowledging the impact of culture on people, history, knowledge, and experiences. This can be realized when individuals, families, and communities for whom educational reform is intended, and indigenous teachers, all have the opportunity to be part of the process of formulating curriculum policies, developing curriculum programs, and enacting policies and programs for implementation. In such participatory practice, sensitivity to traditional customs and social norms will be ensured by the community members, while education will be relevant and lead to culturally appropriate curriculum practice. In practice, such community involvement is complex and therefore few national education systems have ventured in contemporary Africa to indigenize the curriculum. For many Tanzanians, the traditional role played by the community in the well-being of individuals within society is in decline. This role is waning and perhaps disappearing partly because of a continued deemphasis found in postcolonial curricula, introduction of market economies and competition, and because of the fear of strengthening cultural plurality over nationhood and nation-building efforts. Informal interviews with teachers in Tanzania indicate that current curriculum planning rarely offers the opportunity where parents, communities or local elders participate in the design of curricula or education policy. This exercise continues to be left to curriculum experts. Even at local level, parents’ input on curriculum issues, school management, or choice of textbooks is hardly acknowledged or even desired. One of the reasons why local communities are not consulted enough is primarily because the main debates take place in meetings which communities do not attend or documents which they do not read or write. Too often these groups are seldom heard because of the documentary bias—bias of the written word—which exists at all the key stages of development planning, implementation, and evaluation (Slim & Thompson, 1993:4). The tragedy of relegating the responsibilities of planning, implementing, and evaluation to “experts” is that many of these experts have been


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educated outside their local communities and now because of their current jobs in cities, they find themselves living even further away from their indigenous communities. This situation only alienates them from their own culture, an alienation likely to be passed on to their own children. What is not readily acknowledged in the habit of relegating responsibilities to “experts”, to the neglect of the local community, is that the local community has for many years been at the center of preserving and strengthening the cultural, social, and moral norms of the African society. Much of this traditional legacy recently has been echoed by several nongovernmental agencies interested in reversing the decline of traditional community participation in education. But this move to decentralized education from the ministries of education has been discounted as a strategy to take away the power of government to produce and distribute textbooks and putting such responsibility in the hands of private companies. Consequently, the intent or outcome may not necessarily be in the interest of local communities or of furthering indigenized education (Brock-Utne, 1995). The apparent dilemma evidenced by the decline in traditional community participation in education seems to rest in the hesitation or ambivalence to introduce meaningful integration of indigenous and Western forms of education and at the same time maintain a balance of power within the constituent groups in the African society. Any imbalance of power between ethnic groups seems to be perceived as a threat to peace in the post-independence era (Huntington, 1968; Time Magazine, 1994; Finance, 1991; New York Times, 1995). This fear has paralyzed any attempt to introduce in schools indigenous languages, themes, ideas, or traditional practices that could be identified with any one dominant ethnic group. Even though there seems to be more opportunities now than before independence to integrate these two systems of education, critics of integration doubt whether a meaningful integration is possible. They argue that the attempt to blend local knowledge into existing “scientific” or formal school procedures falsely assumes that indigenous education systems represent an easily-definable body of knowledge ready for extraction and incorporation. Furthermore, the implementation of integration in education has not readily occurred because traditional educators in the community continue to be discounted as having any valuable expertise. This deficit-driven outlook assumes that indigenous teachers have little or nothing to contribute to improving the knowledge base of the community and that what they know is so localized that it is

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of no apparent value outside the immediate community. Also, there is greater reluctance, almost resistance, to acknowledge that there are different cultures within the nation-state that warrant greater understanding and inclusion. There seems to be the notion that to acknowledge the occurrence of diverse cultures with differing opinions will somehow create some sort of divide. But in fact, this kind of thinking is based more on political fear of the powerless and voiceless people to reclaiming power than substance. It is this fear that results in different cultures being marginalized, and thus, minimizing the dialogues and exchanges between all ethnic groups. The Rationale for (Re)Valuing Indigenous Literacy The dilemmas of integrating indigenous literacy and formal schooling outlined in this chapter provide a forum for an ongoing debate about the production of knowledge, what knowledge is of most worth, whose knowledge is of most worth, and what constitutes official knowledge (Apple, 1993). The perspectives outlined here are by no means exhaustive. I suggested at the outset that my approach would attempt to shed light on the challenges facing Tanzanian schools by looking at the ways persons and community are constructed through the curriculum and through indigenous forms of pedagogy. As alluded throughout, these dilemmas are not limited to Tanzania but pertain to a number of nations currently engaged in revising postcolonial school systems and curricula. I would like to conclude by emphasizing in this study that education, when it is defined in the broadest sense, involves the engagement of teachers and students in the mutual construction of meaningful knowledge and practice. From this point of view, it is therefore imperative that planners direct their curriculum design efforts towards a new way of knowledge production, not as abstract stocks of knowledge to be memorized but as practical applications of what is learned. The guiding question ought to be: Does the curriculum planner contribute to further subjugation or actually work as a catalyst for redressing the power imbalance that already exists between knowledges? It is very important, therefore, that the curriculum is flexible enough to include spaces for indigenous literacy as part of local history, indigenous languages, metaphors, and folklore to nurture and support African identity. Unless subjects taught in classrooms have genuine commitment to the local contexts including indigenous literacy, and unless “school” curriculum allows for multiple perspectives which permit local community’s inputs,


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the “school” knowledge so produced will inevitably become marginal, unusable to the majority of students and often fashioned to subjugate the minds that were intended to be freed by the new knowledge. Steps Towards Indigenizing the Curriculum One well known example of a national effort to indigenize the curriculum is Education for Self-Reliance (ESR) in Tanzania. Though not yet completely successful, this experiment has aimed to localize the curriculum in Tanzania by emphasizing practical rural oriented education as a primary focus. ESR has not attempted to implement integration in a serious or meaningful way. To integrate the curriculum, however, was another project. The perception at the time of its formulation in 1967 was that western forms of education had caused much damage to African traditional ways of learning and teaching, and therefore needed to be deemphasized. Islamic forms of education, however, even though they were part of everyday life in many urban communities, were considered only as “personal” religious beliefs and so dismissed as a legitimate site of a common curriculum. It is presumed that Nyerere’s fear of integrating Islamic forms of education into ESR resulted from his not wishing to get entangled in an unintended religious war between Moslems and Christians. Being a Christian himself, Nyerere saw the danger of splitting the nation into religious factions which was prevalent in several African countries at the time, and sought every way to avoid it including establishing constitutional guarantees to separate government from religion (Nyerere, 1995; Legum & Mmari, 1995). Even though religious education was allowed in the schools as a subject taught by priests and Moslem clerics, the new nation of Tanzania was not going to be affiliated with any one religious group. Until today the integration question of indigenous, Western, and Islamic forms of education has not been addressed, and for many, it is better left alone than confronted. Nyerere’s radical ideals about indigenizing education may have simply echoed at the time the climate of educational reform taking place elsewhere in Africa, particularly the West African countries of Nigeria and Ghana. Elsewhere, though much later in the postcolonial era, conferences, study seminars, and high-level government discussions about Africanization and reintroducing indigenous education in formal schooling were undertaken in Botswana, Kenya, Guinea, Uganda, Zaire, Zambia, and Zimbabwe, to name just a few initiatives, but nowhere has the “traditional” African education component become apparent in policy documents like it was in ESR (Fafunwa & Aisiku, 1982, Chapter 1).

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An attempt to implement such radical educational reforms like those suggested in ESR has been the biggest challenge to African educators. This task has not been made any easier even when many educators believe that a formal education system can play an important role in Africa, and that such a system must meet the cultural, social, moral, and intellectual, as well as political and economic needs of Africa. Although researchers from the West were quick to write off Education for Self-Reliance as failure, there is nothing to compare ESR to. Local teachers really do not have any other model to follow except their own intuition from local knowledge. As explained to me during interviews in Tanzania, these teachers speak a home language different from the national language when they are not at school; they follow traditions and customs that are not shared by the national culture; they participate regularly in rituals and beliefs that are not similar to what they teach or read in textbooks; and they rationalize and make plans for their future and the future of their children based on an epistemology sometimes antithetical or in direct opposition to Western or European epistemologies. Situations like these confront both students and teachers throughout the school system in Tanzania. More importantly, tensions and contradictions abound between what is intended by curriculum reforms and what actually gets implemented in classrooms. For this reason, few attempts have been successfully implemented to realize a localized and indigenized curriculum. The persistent question is: Why? Why has integration posed such a challenge? Why have these intentions thus far eluded curriculum practitioners? What are the obstacles to such desired integration? Previous analysis dealing with some of these questions has identified some of the obstacles to be mostly related to several problems: (1) lack of political will to deal with the contradictions between intentions and practice reflected in shallow curricular reforms based on unrealistic national projections of educational programs; (2) dependence on foreign assistance in fiscal planning and the aiddependence syndrome; (3) continued reliance on macro planning which ignores population growth, basic needs, indigenous knowledge, and disparities in regional, urban, rural, and remote areas; (4) the use of inappropriate research methods; (5) a lack of African teaching methodology at the formal school level; (6) difficulty of attracting donor support for research in indigenous education; (7) the alienation of many intellectuals from their own culture; and (8) callous attitude to colonial and historical legacies (Semali, 1993; 1994). Attempts to indigenize the curriculum must begin with overcoming some of these


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obstacles. For example, how might planners and funding agencies overcome the modernist approach that insinuates that the problems of Africa are the result of historical backwardness or traditionalism? One place to start the decolonization of knowledge is for administrators and government agents to encourage curriculum developers to rethink education and schooling and begin a new path which departs from foreign interpretations of what is important at the local level. Critical questions must be asked: Who are these curriculum planners? Whose interests do they represent? What do they know about IK? How much do they value IK? As it is often the case, many curriculum planners have been educated in European and North American universities and have adopted Western paradigms to African schools with little or no local adaptations. Some of them are also a generation or two removed from African traditional practice. To illustrate this dilemma, one needs not look very far. A careful examination of the Tanzanian primary and secondary curriculum reveals that only token subjects like Kilimo (agriculture) and Maarifa ya Nyumbani (domestic science education) and more recently civic education, have alluded to traditional education but rather superficially. The unfortunate consequence is that traditional methods and techniques of learning through practice or the use of African proverbs and folklore have generally been ignored. Even though these courses were conceptualized as practical subjects, the curriculum did not provide a practical application in the village community. From textbooks to teachers, from utensils to ideas about what it means to be a Tanzanian “wife” or “husband,” the courses did not help students apply what they had learned in the classroom to the context in which they grew up in the village. Instead, the approach was such that emphasis was put on abstract and universal stocks of knowledge to be learned, memorized, and eventually regurgitated at the time of national examinations. Missing in this approach was a curriculum design which attempted to incorporate traditional practices for bringing up the young, for learning through play, for initiation into manhood or womanhood, for the teaching of skills, or for lifelong education within the local context. Application of traditional pedagogical methods in these two subjects was extremely weak. Continuing to ignore these local knowledge resources only perpetuates postcolonial legacies and maintains oppressive knowledge systems.

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Conclusion As African educators search for a more inclusive approach to curriculum practice, they are challenged to develop a practice that is not fragmented by the modern techno-industrial culture. They must confront the emerging challenges: How much control do Africans have over the production of their own identities? To what extent do they consciously and knowingly participate in defining themselves? What contributions have Africans made to global knowledge that continue to be ignored? The expected outcome of considering these challenges ought to become a reconceptualized curriculum practice which is inclusive, democratic, and one which acknowledges African heritage, experience, identity, and history. Curriculum designers must be cognizant that there is not one indigenous culture that needs to be incorporated into education. Models of education borrowed from other African cultures can be as oppressive as the Euro-American models. Students must be exposed to the different cultural perspectives as part of their history and heritage rather than ignoring the diverse cultural perspectives completely. Although this reality may be tricky to the novice curriculum planner, it is important to remember that attempts at curriculum reconstruction in Africa and in Tanzania in particular, must be reconceptualized as a process rather than a technique or a “quick-fix” method. Practical applications of knowledge in the local community where indigenous knowledge systems get rationalized and get strategically employed must take center stage in the school curriculum planning. It will continue to be a dilemma for Tanzania, and certainly a stretch, to expect an outsider who barely knows the indigenous cultures and languages, or to expect foreign textbook company executives to incorporate into textbooks African metaphors, folklore, stories, and the like, to capture local imagery, meaning, and values. Endnotes 1. Throughout this paper, the term “indigenous” is used to signify complex, culturally diverse societies of Africa which have resulted from decades of immigration and integration. Such a complex mixture includes in some instances, traditional Islamic practices as well which vary greatly and cannot be separated from other African traditional practices. It is also important at this point to note that “indigenizing” the curriculum refers to the re-introduction of indigenous practices into the school system, and “integrating”


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the curriculum refers to a curriculum design which reflects both indigenous and western forms of knowledge. 2. The emergence of non-governmental organizations and social movements in sub-Sahara Africa has been described by P. Wangoola, of the African Association of Literacy and Adult Education, “as the neo-colonial state decays and abandons its responsibilities to the people on the directives of the IMF and the World Bank, the people have had to respond by organizing themselves for survival and self-preservation, while figuring out long-term solutions. This explains the rapid growth of peasant and workers associations, welfare organizations, mutual aid societies, harambee groups and the indigenous African development organizations and NGO’s.” (cited in K.Mundy, “Literacy in Southern Africa,” Comparative Education Review, 37 (November 1993): 410. 3. Some investigation has been possible thanks to the concept of cognitive anthropology, or “ethnoscience,” in which a culture’s perception of its universe is studied through its language. Used extensively in the 1970s by Scribner and Cole, this method has not gained wide diffusion because it requires an in-depth knowledge of the vernacular, which few researchers have. However, many basic questions remain unanswered (See Thomas, 1993; Becker & Horowitz, 1972). References Apple, M. (1993). Official knowledge. Democratic education in a conservative age. New York: Routledge. Becker H. & I Horowitz (1972). “Radical Politics and Sociological Research: Observations on Methodological and Ideology.” American Journal of Sociology 78:48–66. Bray, M., P.B.Clarke, & D.Stevens (1986). Education and society in Africa. London; Edward Arnold. Brock-Utne, B. (1995). Cultural Conditionally and Aid to Education in East Africa. International Review of Education 41 (3– 4):177–197. Brokensha D. & O.Warren (Eds.). (1980). Indigenous Knowledge Systems and Development. Lanham: Maryland: University Press of America.

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Connwall, A., I.Guijit & A.Welbourn (1994). Acknowledging process: Methodological challenges for agricultural research and extension. In I.Scoones & J.Thompson (Eds.), Beyond farmer first. Rural people’s knowledge, agricultural research and extension practice, 98–116. London: Intermediate Technology Publications. Danzelot, J. (1979). The Politics of Families. New York: Pantheon. Daun, H. 1992. Childhood learning and adult life: The functions ofindigenous, Islamic and Western Education in an African context Stockholm: Institute of International Education. Dennis, R. (1985). “Health Beliefs and Practices of Ethnic and Religious Groups.” In Elizabeth L.Watkins & Audrey E.Johnson (Eds.), Removing Cultural and Ethnic Barriers to Health Care. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Dewey, J. (1983). Experience and education. New York: Mcmillan. Erny, P. (1981). The Child and his environment in black Africa. An Essay on traditional education. Translated and Abridged by G.J. Wanjohi. Nairobi: Oxford University Press. Eshiwani, G. (1993). Education in Kenya since independence. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Fafunwa, A.B. and J.U.Aisiku. (1982). Education in Africa. Boston: George Allen and Unwin. Fensham, P., R.White, R.Gunstone (Eds.). (1994). The Content of Science: A Constructivist Approach to Teaching and Learning. London: The Falmer Press. Finance, “The Kalenjin,” (July 31, 1991):10–17. Ford, R.I. (Ed.). (1978). The nature and status of ethnobotany. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Giroux, H. (1988). Schooling and the struggle for public life: Critical pedagogy in the modern age. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Hall, S. (1996). “When was ‘the post-colonial’? Thinking at the limit.” In Ian Chambers and Linda Curti, (Eds.), The Post-colonial Question. New York: Routledge. 242–260. Hawkins, & Pea (1987). The influence of intellectual environment of conception of heat. European Journal of Science Education 6 (3). 245–262 Huntington, S. (1968). Political order in changing societies. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.


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Kakonge, J.O. (1995). “Traditional African values and their use in implementing Agenda 21.” Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor 1 (3):19–22. Kroma, S. (1995). “Popularizing science education in developing countries through indigenous knowledge.” Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor, 3, 13–15. Layton, D. (1991). Science education and praxis: The relationship of school science to practical action, Studies in Science Education 19, 43–79. Legum C. and G.Mmari. (1995). Mwalimu, the influence of Nyerere. 126–128. Dar es Salaam: Africa World Press. New York Times, “Rwanda opens the trial of 14 in the military” (May 3, 1995):A12. Nyerere, J.K. 1968. Education for self-Reliance. In Freedom and socialism/Uhuru na Ujamaa: Essays on socialism. 278–290. New York: Oxford University Press. Nyerere, J.K. 1995. Our leadership and the destiny of Tanzania. 10– 11. Harare, Zimbabwe: African Publishing Group. Prewitt, K. 1971. Education and political values. An East African case study. Nairobi: East African Publishing House. Rawls, J. (1971). A Theory of Justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Scoones, I. & J.Thompson (Eds.) (1994). Beyond farmer first. Rural people’s knowledge, agricultural research and extension practice. London: Intermediate Technology Publications. Semali, L. 1993. Communication media in postliteracy education: New dimensions of literacy. International Review of Education. 39 (3): 193–206. Semali, L. 1994. The social and political context of literacy education for pastoral societies and other marginalized transient societies. Eric Family Literacy Files. Bloomington: Indiana University. Shiva V. (1989). Staying alive. London: Zed Books. Shiva, V. (1993). Monocultures of the mind: Perspectives in biodiversity and biotechnology. London: Zed Books. Slim, H. & P.Thompson (1993). Listening—For a change: Oral Testimony and development. London: Panos. Street, B. (1995). Social Literacies: Critical Approaches to Literacy in Development, Ethnography and Education. New York: Longman.

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Thomas, J. (1993). Doing Critical Ethnography. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications. Time Magazine, “Cry the forsaken country,” (August 1, 1994):10. Tokar, B. (1992). “After the earth Summit.” Z Magazine. September, pp. 9–10. United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). (1996). Conserving Indigenous Knowledge. New York: Rural Advancement Foundation International. Warren, M. & B.Rajasekaran (1993). “Putting Local Knowledge to Good Use.” International Agricultural Development 13 (4):8–10. WCEFA. (1990). World Conference on Education for All (WCEFA). Report on the World Conference on Education for All, sponsored by the World Bank, UNDP, UNICEF, and UNESCO, Jomtien, Thailand, 5–9 March, 1990. Paris: Unesco. Wilmer, F. (1996). “Narratives of Resistance: Postmodernism and Indigenous World Views.” Race Gender & Class in World Cultures. An Interdisciplinary & Multicultural Journal. Vol. 3, No. 2:35–58.

CHAPTER FIVE

Science Education in Nonwestern Cultures: Towards a Theory of Collateral Learning Olugbemiro J.Jegede1 Introduction To date, the teaching of science in Nonwestern classrooms, especially in Africa, has tended to indicate that the mechanistic worldview is the only legitimate way of viewing natural phenomena. Consequently, very little is known about non-Western learners’ indigenous knowledge base, the way they learn, and the cognitive processes and their interactions which occur when learning science concepts. This chapter is concerned with the effect of traditional worldview (indigenous knowledge) on the learning of science through Western worldview and how it affects cognitive processes within a situated context. This author suggests that the culture of a student’s immediate environment plays a very significant role in learning, determining how concepts are learned and how they are stored in the long term memory as schemata. Collateral learning theory is taken up in this chapter to explain how non-Western learners attempt to cope with science learning within a classroom environment which is often hostile to their indigenous knowledge. Four types of collateral learning will be identified as occupying a continuum, and also, it may be suggested that a student could be helped to progress through them for meaningful learning to occur. It is pointed out that although collaterality occurs in every society of the world, the interactions of the two or more worldviews in which the non-Western students learn complicate the learning process. The implications of understanding collateral learning for curriculum and instructional design, research, and professional expert advice to governments and Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) of Africa will also be highlighted.

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Learning as Information Processing The most important source of input of information into the system is the environment. The environment could be geographic, domestic, and sociocultural, and represents a link between what is already known and what is to be learned. According to Glaser (1991), the current information available on human problem solving indicates that “the way students represent the information given in a mathematics or science problem, or in a text they read, depends upon the structure of their existing knowledge. These structures enable them to build a representation or mental model that guides problem solution and further learning” (p. 132). Kintsch (1994), in a recent study on text comprehension, memory, and learning has also established the importance of background or prior knowledge for memory and stresses that this has consequences for retrievability. Learning, therefore, as stated by Kintsch, is such that “the ability to retrieve information requires deep understanding of the subject matter, so that the information acquired can be used productively in novel environments” (p. 294). Cziko (1989) supports this by stating that “it is not the environment or external stimuli that influences our behavior but rather it is the meaning that each individual attaches to his or her experiences of the environment and that this meaning is influenced by an extremely complex myriad of social and cultural factors” (p. 18). Situated Cognition and the Role of Prior Knowledge In effect knowledge construction and problem solving processes are influenced by a number of factors including the social and cultural context in which solving a problem takes place, the physical structure, the purpose of the activity, the existence of collaborating partners, and the social milieu in which the problem is embedded (Furnham, 1992). Hennessy (1993) views knowledge acquisition using the novice to expert model and concludes that “cultural transmission plays a major role in the construction of domain expertise” (p. 1). What all this means is that there is a strong relationship between prior knowledge, which is now being recognized as central to memory and learning, and sociocultural environment of the learner. The two appear inseparable with the latter creating and nurturing the former. The jargon for this in the literature is “situated cognition”. Brown, Collins & Duguid (1989) have argued, based on their experiences with mathematics instruction, that: the activity in which knowledge is developed and deployed is not separable from, or ancillary to learning and cognition. Nor is it neutral.

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Rather, it is an integral part of what is learned. Situations might be said to co-produce knowledge through activity. Learning and cognition, it is now possible to argue, are fundamentally situated, (p. 32)

Brown, Collins & Duguid (1989) and Glynn, Yeany & Britton (1991) have argued that it is very limiting to assume that conceptual knowledge can be abstracted from the situations in which it is learned and used. Drawing on recent research into cognition, they have concluded that knowledge is situated as a product of the activity, context, and culture in which it is developed and used, noting that conventional schooling too often ignores the influence of culture on what is learned in school. Atwater (1994) supports the view that student’s prior knowledge, expectations, and preconceptions serve as filters for information. She further explains that “in science classes the ideal way for students to understand science concepts includes students challenging the new concept, grappling with it, attempting to make meaning of it, and eventually integrating it with what they already know” (p. 560). Hennessy (1993) has summarized the implications of situated cognition for our understanding of classroom learning and reiterates the role of prior knowledge in learning as follows: A key factor in problem-solving ability is the learner’s resources—the informal or intuitive knowledge an individual is capable of bringing to bear on his or her relevant competencies. Schema theory and related research indicate that as in the case of expert practitioners, children’s previous knowledge and experience are a major determining factor in how new tasks are interpreted, what is understood and what they can go on to learn. The organized, abstracted bodies of information which learners bring to learning determine whether new materials will make sense, (p. 7)

According to Baker and Taylor (1995) prior knowledge seemed to be “highly resilient in the face of traditional modes of instruction” (p. 9). This supports the finding of Gilbert, Watts and Osborne (1982) in their studies of children’s science which states that the dominance of students’ prior understandings can often lead to quite unintended interpretations of what is being taught. Schutz and Luckmann (1973) propounded the foundational theory as accounting for this state with some corroboration from other studies (Acura, 1983; Ehindero, 1982) which affirmed ecoculture as the underlying factor for prior knowledge. The results of these research studies, alongside those of Ausubel (1968) and Novak

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(1988), seemed to have fuelled the movement towards the paradigm of constructivism which is now emerging as the dominant paradigm in science and mathematics education (see von Glasersfeld, 1990). A major driving force for the incorporation of a social account of the conceptual change and constructivism, has been the work of many researchers which include Solomon (1989), Tobin (1993), Driver & Erickson (1983), Linn & Burbules (1993), and Yackel, Cobb, Wood, Wheatley, & Merkel (1990) which indicated that concept development in school science is influenced to a great extent by social influences, especially students’ socially-determined preconceptions and predilections. Baker and Taylor (1995) have adequately summarized Solomon’s argument for the emotionally laden nature of students’ sociocultural life-world knowledge as follows: secondary socialisation process of learning school science involves less subjective inevitability, and may be experienced as being less compelling. Consequently, students might reject or only partially accept, the concepts that they develop during science lessons despite its apparent (from the teacher’s perspective) overwhelmingly rational nature, (p. 6)

The lesson to be learnt from this, therefore, is that the resilience shown by prior knowledge of a learner in conceptual change teaching is nothing but a direct manifestation of the ecoculture norms of the learner’s society. In the case of a Nonwestern learner in a Western science classroom, the ecocultural norms surface through the epistemology of that culture and the meanings adduced to reality. A critical analysis of this would indicate that an enormous gap does exist between Western and nonwestern interpretation of reality with particular reference to school learning. Closely related to the issue of authentic science is the issue of worldviews projected by school science. School science and mathematics as they are currently being taught, project only one form of worldview—the Western view which holds claim to superiority over any other form of studying nature. They neither recognize the variations among people nor the different worldviews learners bring into the science and mathematics classrooms. Cobern (1993) defines worldview as the “culturally-dependent, generally subconscious, fundamental organization of the mind which manifests itself as a set of presuppositions that predispose one to feel, think and act in predictable patterns” (p. 58). This in simple terms means that one’s culture programs


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a person’s thoughts, feelings, and actions. One would, therefore, have expected that this anthropological truism is recognized in educational learning. The history of science might explain why this has not been so. Science originated from Europe and later expanded with European culture to present day Western world. As Cobern (1994) puts it, “as a way of denoting geographical location, one may accurately speak of Western science” (p. 5). Modern science, as it is called, connotes two ideas. First, it distinguishes it from medieval and ancient science and relies on objective/deductive reasoning with empirical stoics methods to unravel reality. Modern science is therefore seen as the only correct path to knowledge acquisition in popular Western culture. In historical terms, this view is a relatively recent phenomenon coming from strict positivists from Comte to Mach. Second, it serves to separate the Western way of thinking (which, in the main follows scientific reasoning) from the so-called primitive thinking represented by traditional, usually nonwestern forms of thought. While Levy-Bruhl (1960) claimed to have established the superiority of Western science and mode of thought over traditional ones about how natives think, Lowe (1988) and Swift (1992) believe that a large body of theoretical thinking in the African culture and the practice of technology are not mere folk thought or unorganized applications of such thought. The baseline is that Western science, in contrast to the traditional mode of acquiring knowledge, promotes rational thought and should therefore be a part of education to civilize primitive thinkers. Robeck (1994) opines that the claim to superiority of Western science conflicts with the possibility of addressing indigenous knowledge with respect. There does not seem to be any “scientific” basis for regarding non-Western thought as scientific, anti-scientific or any less superior (Marinez & Ortiz de Montellano, 1983; Ogawa, 1986). To be different is definitely not an indication of being synonymous with primitivity or inferiority or lack of logical thought. Maddock (1981) supported this assertion when he stated that with the missionary urge to “convert the heathens” it has often been assumed that the so-called primitive races have no science (p. 7). After studying several cultures, Malinowski (1948) concluded that “there are no peoples however primitive without religion and magic. Nor are there, it must be added at once, any savage races lacking in either scientific attitude or in science” (p. 7). Cobern (1993) supports this view by stating that “if science is taken to mean the casual study

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of nature by simple observation, then of course all cultures in all times have had their own science” (p. 2). Instead of attempting to convert students so that they shed their indigenous “primitive” worldview in favor of more scientific explanations, school science and mathematics should recognize the situations in which indigenous worldviews are useful. Unfortunately, the colonizing and civilizing view of Western science is basically responsible for the transfer by science and mathematics educators and their governments of the North American and European curriculum reforms of the 60s, to non-Western developing classrooms. This transfer is characterized by little concern or disdainful disregard for prevailing indigenous cultures and the worldviews students bring from them to the study of Western science. This evangelistic mission of Western education (including science) meant that it was used, not to promote the healthy coexistence of the Western and the African cultures, but as a sanitizing and civilizing medium. As noted by Dart and Pradham (1976), “the attitude and often the intent of Western education has been that a “primitive” or “decadent” civilization is to be replaced with a more “modern” and “better” one…. It tends to be particularly strong in science teaching, for science teaching is taken to be the one really unique and powerful offering of the western world” (p. 655). The implications of this have been (a) the imposition of one culture (Western) over another (African), and Western science over the indigenous science; (b) the attempt to completely wipe out the science and technology of the indigenous African peoples and hence their culture and history; and (c) the uncomfortable dissonance between the two worlds of science and culture between which the learner is torn in a non-Western environment (Ogawa, 1986; Jegede, 1989; Jegede & Fraser, 1990; Jegede, 1994a& 1994b). A detailed discussion of the African thought system has been done elsewhere (Jegede, 1995) and shown to consist of many diverse parts which fit into a whole. These parts include worldview, communal organization, theory of knowledge, causality, religion, concept of time and space, kingship system, rituals, death, marriages, witchcraft, ancestor worship, story telling and riddles, reincarnation, sorcery, spirits, etc. These are what constitute the cosmology of the African and they are common to all cultures within the continent although the differences might be a matter of degree rather than kind. A tabulated summary contrasting it with the Western world view is as shown in Table 1. A


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numher of other studies have discussed the dimensions of non-Western and Western worldviews (see Anderson, 1988; Caduto & Bruchac, 1989; Crichlow, Goodwin, Shakes, & Swartz, 1990). Table 1 A Summary of African and Western Systems of Thought

Four fundamental features can be identified from the African belief and thought system, especially the religious aspects of that system: (1) all Africans believe in the existence of the creator—the supreme God; (2) there is the belief in the continuation of life after death— reincarnation is a common and very popular aspect of the African culture; (3) the human is seen and regarded as the center of the universe; and (4) the theory of causality. This anthropomorphic view of nature by Africans governs their thoughts, the way they do things, and the way they relate to one another within the community. This is the sociocultural cloak the African child takes to science classrooms. Sociocultural Factors Culture has a great deal to do with differences in achievement in school work (Jegede & Okebukola, 1988, 1989) and its influence, which is different for various ethnic and cultural groups, affecting the kind and amount of science learning which takes place in schools (Atwater, 1994). Cognitive activity (in school and outside) is inseparable from its cultural milieu and school learning and performance are influenced by complex social, economic, historical, and cultural factors (Glaser, 1991; Ogbu, 1992).

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The primary aim of every society is the passing down of its sociocultural attributes to the younger ones who would be future adults. Within non-Western societies with peculiar structures and characteristics, sociocultural attributes become a composite part of the environment. These factors control, to a very large extent, what a child in such an environment learns and what a child becomes in later life. Because every human “tends to resolve puzzles in terms of the meanings available in a particular sociocultural environment, the baseline is that the meanings become firmly implanted in the cognitive structure and manifest themselves habitually and may act as templates, anchors or inhibitions to new learning” (Ogunniyi, 1988, p. 10). In spite of the fact that the literature is replete with information about variables which affecting science teaching and learning, very little is available regarding the sociocultural climate of our science classrooms. Studies in this area are needed for two main reasons. First, culture, as the totality of all humans, subsumes every endeavor we undertake, including science education. Science education is a cultural and human enterprise involving the transmission of cultural heritage of a people (Gallagher & Dawson, 1988; Maddock 1981). Every investigation of human organization ought to, therefore, tackle the sociocultural issue. The second reason is that research findings on learning have tended to emphasize achievement outcomes and underlying theories of instructional strategies but neglect cognitive processes that take place as students of non-Western backgrounds attempt to learn Western science, especially in African classrooms. One could therefore ask the question as to why African students learning Western science display certain traits that do not seem congruent with what is expected of “normal” learners in science and mathematics classes? For example, they hardly display the urge to ask questions in class. When forced to voice their opinions, some believe science has very little relationship with their own real world. Others think the study of science is a weird, special activity requiring some magical and superhuman explanations. For the teacher who perhaps shares the same sociocultural background with his/her students, the issue is as real as it is frustrating. The situation is even worse (and may be horrendous) for the teacher with a Western background who has to teach students of Nonwestern backgrounds. There is therefore a need to arrest the acute dearth of information to help teachers grapple with the effect of sociocultural aspects on the science classroom. One of such attempts was embarking on a series


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of studies in culture and science education (Jegede & Fraser, 1990; Jegede &Okebukola, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993; Jegede and Olajide, 1995; Jegede, Fraser & Okebukola, 1994; Okebukola & Jegede, 1990). The results of our investigations have led us to conclude that there are five predictors of sociocultural influences on the learning and teaching of science: authoritarianism, goal structure, traditional worldview, societal expectation, and sacredness of science. Each is described below in turn. Their importance to science teachers cannot be overemphasized. AUTHORITARIANISM characterizes the traditional society where the belief is strongly held that the older person, having been exposed to more life experiences, should be in a better position to appraise a situation and pass “correct” judgement. The society frowns at a situation where the elder’s point of view is challenged or questioned. Accordingly, the elder asserts authority in decision making. It behooves the younger individual to accept without question the directives passed down by the elder. This locus of authority of knowledge is transferred into the classroom where the science teacher is seen as the elder who “knows all” in matters relating to scientific facts, processes, principles, and laws. GOAL STRUCTURE refers to the interaction pattern among the people of Africa, a pattern that is predominantly cooperative in nature. In this cooperative setting, the goal structure of individuals is directed at the same objective, and there exists a high interdependence among the individuals working toward a common goal. This contrasts very markedly with the individualistic competitive orientation that school science portrays to learners. A TRADITIONAL WORLDVIEW relates to traditional beliefs and superstitions being used as a framework through which occurrences are interpreted. African society holds the notion that supernatural forces do have significant roles to play in daily occurrences. The younger members of the traditional society are supposed to learn and believe these notions without questioning them. However, this creates conflict when the learner’s scientific knowledge is not in agreement with the traditional worldview. SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS play a pivotal role. The success of individuals within a community is developed and interpreted through the nature of their interaction within a communal society. The behavior of members in the community is invariably and intimately linked to, and governed by, the behavior of the larger community. Hence, a school

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child always reviews his or her achievement in school as a reflection on his or her home, friends, and community. SACREDNESS OF SCIENCE pertains to conceptual interpretations of science. There is a pervasive view held by a large proportion of African society that the study of science is something special in that it requires magical explanations incompatible with the thoughts of someone from a non-Western society. Our studies on the effect of socio-cultural factors on science learning have also led us to the following major conclusions: i.

The socio-cultural background of the learner may have a greater effect on education than does the subject content; ii. Reasoning that is based upon a non-Western worldview with its attendant sociocultural factors inhibits the initial adoption by a student of Western science empirical methodology as well as the acceptance of the evidence resulting from such a methodology; iii. The non-Western worldview seems to cause a student to become involuntarily selective when making observations in a science classroom. This might be more of a consequence of a students’ worldview and the feelings of doubt rather than to a body of conflicting knowledge; iv. Rural communities explain natural phenomena through, what in the perception of Western science could be labelled as, non-rational means, even when the observer has no contradictions in his/her conceptual system; and v. Knowledge learnt through school science and traditional environment are compartmentalized and drawn upon to explain any phenomenon depending on the particular situation. Rarely does a student attempt to use school science knowledge to explain a phenomenon within a traditional environment. There appears to be a harmonious co-existence in the long-term memory part of a learners’ cognitive structure. Among the many implications of these results are the following: a.

Any Western science curriculum in a non-Western classroom environment which does not take particular consideration of the traditional worldview of the learner risks destroying the framework through which concepts are likely to be interpreted;


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b. A student might perform excellently well in a Western science classroom without imbibing or being enthusiastic about displaying the associated values and attitudes. This “good” scientist at school can at home be a “traditionalist” without any feeling of cognitive perturbation or dissonance. Collateral Learning It may well be that contrary to explanations provided by studies into cognitive change through alternative conception or misconception theory, we should now begin to look at ways in which non-Western learners cope with the dilemma of learning science in an environment somewhat hostile to the indigenous knowledge they bring into the science classroom. The thesis of this paper is that the duality of thought and actions created in the memory and schema of non-Western learners when they learn Western within a situated context and with resilient indigenous knowledge framework results in collateral learning. Consider for a moment the typical life (focusing on every day occurrences) of a learner in a non-Western environment. Within a rural African community that has very little or no contact with Western modes of thought, the children in that community have the most privileged exposure to authentic, relevant, and functional science. Every day, they witness the hatching of eggs of lizards, snakes, birds, cockroaches, etc. They see in stagnant waters the development of a toad or frog from eggs and tadpole stages. They are a part of how the plants (maize, vegetables, yams which they helped to sew) grow from seeds to annuals or perennials. In some cases their relationship with their parents or grandparents who are village doctors, pharmacists, or midwives give them an unparalleled mind- and hands-on experience in medicine and pharmacy. Their participation in the local fabrication of hunting and farming implements, and helping grandmother mix ash and palm oil for soap making among several other daily chores, introduces the children to engineering and technology. Helping to rear domestic animals, or being part of an itinerant family who tender livestock becomes a culture’s way of an integrated, environmentallybased curriculum which includes animal science. As adults, rural dwellers therefore have no need to distinguish or mentally wrestle with traditional beliefs based on religious, magical, or metaphysical thought. They occupy what Rampal (1994) calls “complimentary domains in the space of social cognition” (p. 137). Such a rural community knows no demarcation between indigenous

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science and traditional knowledge. They are interwoven, interdependent, and interdisciplinary. This is probably what Horton (1970) referred to as a “closed” system of thought, characterized by a lack of awareness of alternatives to the established traditional body of the knowledge culture in that community. This situation would of necessity constrain or prohibit the tendency or need to reason outside the domain of the African thought system. However, the situation is completely different and assumes a disturbingly large dimension once a child from a traditional society makes the transition to formal schooling. At school, such a learner is often required, as a first step to “effectively” learn Western thought, to undergo a cultural and mental ecdysis. S/he must shed his/her coat of indigenous knowledge (or what others call prior, alternative, or naive conception) literally at the door of the science classroom and dab the modern science one. This will ostensibly act as a cleaning agent to wipe clean the mental faculty of a nonwestern learner in readiness of receiving the ideas of Western thought. From the first day an African child enters a science classroom s/he consigns him/herself unknowingly (initially) to a new life of constant educational imperialism, enmeshed in a web of foreign (Western) economic, political, and other systems which would forever become a source of dilemma. Western thought, learned through school science is naively accepted into an African learner’s long-term memory and is initially seen as a diametrically opposed to his/her customary, religious, superstitious, and other beliefs. Progressively, as more science is learnt and as the African learner evaluates scientific knowledge in the light of his/her sociocultural tradition, the dilemma begins to resolve itself. Science now begins to be seen as a specific system of knowledge based on a mechanistic, positivistic-empiricist culture, which did not necessarily interfere with the non-Western anthropomorphic, rationalistic and cosmological mode of thought. This, is the genesis of collateral learning, an accommodative mechanism for conceptual resolution of potentially conflicting tenets within a person’s cognitive structure. Collateral learning represents the process whereby a learner in a non-Western classroom constructs, side by side and with minimal interference and interaction, Western and traditional meanings of a simple concept. Collateral knowledge, therefore, is the declarative knowledge of a concept which such a learner stores up in the long term memory with a capability for strategic use in either the Western or traditional environment. A simple but practical example which I


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have enjoyed working with is “rainbow making”. Western science teaches students that a rainbow is caused by the refraction of a beam of light by droplets of water. A common activity usually performed in the laboratory to explain or confirm this is passing a source of light through soap bubbles or merely raising the bubbles towards natural sunlight. The joy of scientific discovery shows very clearly and instantly through the excitement students often display during this experiment. On the other hand, traditional thought explains the appearance of the rainbow as a python crossing a river or a sign indicating the passing away of an important traditional chief. There are several other explanations from other cultures. Although explaining or confirming this phenomenon is most difficult if not impossible, a non-Western student nevertheless holds this as a dogma. Such a student may not offer this explanation in a science class beyond mentioning that this is what is believed traditionally, but in the local community she/he holds the traditional explanation as gospel. However, what he/she has learnt about rainbow making in the science class remains intact and only drawn upon during examination period, if needed. Ontogeny of Collateral Learning For a variety of reasons millions of people, Western or Nonwestern, live in two domains and learn collaterally. However, for people with a Western background the everyday domain does not significantly affect their thought processes or learning in the dominant sciencebased one. The pervasive nature of the scientific culture and its use as the basis for politics, economy, technology, etc., make it second nature. However, within Nonwestern cultures of Africa, the everyday domain of learning is seen, accepted, taught, and used as the dominant, and perhaps the only way of viewing nature within that environment. Faced with science in the classroom, a Nonwestern learner begins to grapple with the need to resolve understanding a concept from two domains on an everyday basis. This leads to collateral learning. Collateral learning has its roots in two major historical developments. First is the use of science to defend Western rationality and therefore a justification for Western expansion (Pyenson, 1993). With the development of science, “Western Europe became the crucible for nineteenth-century expansion, the notion of the West emerged as an expression for all societies that imitated European fashions and operated economies based on European technologies” (Pyenson, 1993, p. 330). The European way of thinking became associated with the phenomenal

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success recorded through the use of science and technology in warfare and industrial revolution. The tradition of Western science therefore became a civilizing medium for the world. The second historical development is related to the first and has to do with the consequences of colonialism for countries and their citizens, especially those of Africa. Through education, the colonialists extended the use of science as a civilizing subject to be taught in schools in order to rid the savages of the magical view attached to reality (Steiner, 1971). Sogolo (1994) in discussing the crisis of identity as the consequence of the malaise of colonial mentality says that: It is a historical fact that Africans accepted colonialism as a vehicle of economic and social transformation. Yet, their traditional ways of life continued to have a grip on them. In quite a number of cases, the imported items of culture were structurally disruptive of the core elements of African culture such that it was possible for them to mesh or co-exist with those already in place. The attitude was either one of hostile reaction against the new order or a powerful tendency to retain the status quo. It gave rise to the mixed feelings in which the troubled sense of acceptance was pitted against that of rejection, (p. 3)

Lending credence to collaterality that resulted through colonialism, Wiredu (1980) said colonialism resulted in: the phenomenon of belonging at once to two worlds, namely the world of the modern urban industrial centre and that of the traditional home…a new dualism…that causes a kind of ethnic schizophrenia in some spheres of conduct, (p. 23)

Translated into the classroom, it is not too difficult to imagine how the African child learns collaterally and the learner’s acceptance of this state as an every day occurrence. Coupled with the way most science books and science teachers portray Western science as the only legitimate way of understanding nature, the cognitive processes which occur in a learner’s schema become a complex array of dilemmas, conflicts, and continual attempts to wrestle with a situation central to how science concepts are learned. A search in the literature indicates some support for the theory of collateral learning. Goodman (1984) points to the need to recognize the multiplicity of cultures, each with its own worldview and each existing in its appropriate context. According to Goodman “one might


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say there is only one world but this holds for each of the many worlds” (p. 278). Relating this viewpoint to scientists and science teaching, Robeck (1994) suggests that just as many scientists now hold a duality of personal worldviews, and it is possible to approach science education so that students learn not only the ideas of science, but also the context in which those ideas are valid (Solomon, 1993; Buseri, 1987; Linder, 1992). Driver (1983) in her book, Pupil as Scientist, distinguishes between pupils’ points of view and school science when she states that “it is possible and important to be able to understand alternative interpretations, to those suggested by other pupils or other scientists, without necessarily believing any of them” (p. 81). Horton (1971), while describing the close relationship between the reasoning patterns and purposes of Western science and African cultural perspective, concluded that “in fact, both are making the same use of theory to transcend the limited vision of natural causes provided by common sense” (p. 213). The only difference in the two theories rests on the entities they invoke. Examined without their entities Horton asserts that the reasoning patterns of African traditions and Western science are very much similar. Ogunniyi (1987) supports this proposition when he argues that “both systems (scientific theories and myths) generate schemes developed from prototype experiences: while scientific theories are based on an impersonal model, myths are based on an anthropomorphic model” (p. 116). In another study, Ogunniyi (1988) supports collateral learning using the argument of a duality of belief and understanding. He explains that if students enter science classes with a traditional cosmology that is not acceptable to Western science, it does not preclude an understanding of science. He concludes that it is possible to hold a scientific as well as a traditional view of the world using as an example the Japanese model of technology and Shinto. Hodson (1992) extends this by suggesting that the task of science teaching is to help all children acquire scientific knowledge, interests, skills, attitudes, and ways of thinking without doing violence to their particular cultural beliefs and experiences (p. 16). Cobern (1994) was emphatic about the cognitive activity of traditional cultures and Western science when he declared that “traditional culture poses no threat to logic and thus need not be viewed as an impediment to the learning of modern science”. Collateral learning in human long-term memory has four major types of collateral reaming: parallel, simultaneous, dependent, and secured.

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Parallel collateral learning The learner acquires and maintains in the long-term memory opposing schema about an idea or concept when learning new science concepts. The learner experiences no visible disequilibrium, that is, no confusion or surprise (Gorsky & Finegold, 1994) except perhaps to readjust memory to accommodate the differing view as presented in the science classroom. The existing schemata shows no interactions with or displays any incompatibility with day to day experience. Parallel learning often characterizes a situation when the learner first comes in contact with school science and allows the new information to coexist in his/her schemata while still trying to understand what they all mean. Simultaneous collateral learning For a concept to become embedded in the long-term memory, the learner must have processed the information over a period of time. In most cases learners in the non-Western environment bombarded with science concepts and ideas about nature from the indigenous background require some moment to comprehend what is to be learned. A situation therefore arises when ideas from two worldviews about a particular concept is learned as the same. Depending on the knowledge base of the learner, a number of interacting elements such as current problem state, problem solving techniques, and differences or similarities between the ideas from two different worldviews are simultaneously assessed. Dependent collateral learning This occurs when a schema from a worldview is presented to challenge another from a different worldview to an extent that the declarative and strategic knowledge permits a learner to modify existing schemata. Although no radical restructuring of existing knowledge base occurs, the learning of an idea (change of an existing schema) depends on the use of one as a trigger. This means that a currently held belief (indigenous or otherwise) is held tentatively to be altered by the construction of new knowledge from the new schema or the rejection of a current one. The process of learning here is similar to the Posner et al. (1982) accommodation-assimilation model of information processing and Sweller’s (1994) explanation of a means-ends strategy involving an attempt to extract differences between each problem state encountered and the goal state and consequently finding problem solving operators that can be used to eliminate those differences.


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Secured collateral learning Knowledge or intellectual skill, as we now know, occurs through gradual and incremental acquisition instead of the all-in-one fashion as has been thought of (see Sweller, 1994). To do this effectively, a learner encounters and resolves what is usually called cognitive conflict, mental perturbation or dissonance in the knowledge base held in the longterm memory. For the Nonwestern learner, understanding the science concept being learned would involve resolving the conflict it has created with the indigenous knowledge base brought into the classroom. The learner attempts to clarify situations by questioning the validity of statements like: How do we know that? How can we confirm that? What evidence do we have to support this? etc. A situation of reinforcing the schema learned in one worldview by a similar one from another begins to occur. The learner evaluates seemingly conflicting worldviews or explanatory frameworks and draws from them a convergence towards commonality. This strengthens the learning process and secures the “new conception” in the long term memory. The different types of collateral learning are not necessarily too separated from each other. They are not to be viewed as compartmentalized but rather as a continuum within the purview of learning science concepts in a sociocultural framework. It should also be seen that a learner could be guided to progress from parallel through simultaneous and dependent to securing. Summary, and Some Theoretical and Educational Consequences of Collateral Learning A review of research conducted over a decade into science teaching and learning in non-Western cultures with particular reference to Africa, as referred to above, seems to indicate the following: the sociocultural background of the learner is central to learning and teaching; the nonWestern worldview seems to cause a student to become involuntarily selective when making observations in a science classroom; knowledge learnt through school science and traditional environment are compartmentalized and drawn upon to explain any phenomenon depending on the particular situation; and that science teaching which does not take particular consideration of the traditional worldview of the learner risks destroying the framework through which concepts are likely to be interpreted. The import of these include the fact that very little emphasis is placed on the indigenous knowledge base which a learner brings

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into the science class. While there is evidence in the literature demonstrating the theories which underlie instructional strategies and learning outcomes, there is a dearth of information about the cognitive processes which take place when a learner is confronted with a worldview interpretation of a concept different from his/her indigenous world view. The arguments in this paper point to collateral the learning, as a very significant factor in looking at how such cognitive processing takes place. Four types of collateral learning were identified and discussed and a view has been expressed that the four types are within a continuum and learning may progress from parallel to the securing. A number of issues are implicated in collateral learning. The absence of information on and a lack of attention to how learning of science concepts within non-Western classrooms occur has limited our understanding of how learners in such an environment construct their own knowledge. The interference of one worldview over another in the learning of science is perhaps much the same as the interference of a first language in the learning of a second. There is an urgent need to explicate how information is assimilated and what elements interact to make learning science concepts in non-Western classrooms possible. Collateral learning is therefore a significant beginning in understanding how learning occurs from a Nonwestern viewpoint. For teachers of science in non-Western classrooms, teachers of science in multicultural Western classrooms with students from non-Western backgrounds, and or foreign educational consultants with African governments and Non-Governmental Organizations, understanding how children of non-Western backgrounds learn is imperative from a couple of standpoints. First, the teaching should not only recognize and respect the indigenous knowledge base of the learners, it should be tailored to begin from where the child is taking cognisance of how they learn. Second, expert advice to government, NGOs, and research agencies by foreign consultants become meaningful if and when they attempt to understand the indigenous knowledge base of learners within an educational system their reports invariably seek to help. The discussion in this paper has empirical implications for researchers, curriculum, and instructional designers. There are issues like how collateral learning or knowledge affect learning outcomes. What aspects and types of collateral learning should science education seek to promote? How do we design science curriculum and instruction to reflect collateral learning? Would there be a need to restructure


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examination and assessment systems to reflect the peculiar nature of cognitive processes of Nonwestern learners of science? Ultimately, these are empirical questions requiring concerted efforts towards generating appropriate answers. Consequently, it is suggested that research attention be directed at unravelling all aspects of collateral learning and its associated paradigm with a view to providing answers to these and other questions related to the learning of science by nonWestern students. Endnote 1. This paper is dedicated to the memory of Leila, whose parents, Farida and Eric, hosted me while I wrote the first draft of this paper in Durban, South Africa. I also wish to thank Professor Adamu Baikie, Vice Chancellor of The National University of Lesotho for his hospitality while I completed the draft of the paper and its first revision.

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keynote presentation at the Third Annual Meeting of the Southern African Association for Research in Mathematics and Science Education (SAARMSE), University of Cape Town, South Africa. Jegede, O.J. & Fraser, B.J. (1990). The effects of instruction on science students’ sociocultural attitudes and achievement. Singapore Journal of Education, 1 (1), 12–18. Jegede, O.J., Fraser, B.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1994). Altering sociocultural beliefs hindering the learning of science. Instructional Science, 22, 137–152. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1988). The educology of sociocultural factors in science classrooms. International Journal of Educology, 2 (2), 93–107. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1989). Some sociocultural factors militating against drift towards science and technology in secondary schools. Research in Science and Technological Education, 7 (2), 141–151. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1990). The relationship between African traditional cosmology and students’ acquisition of a science process skill. International Journal of Science Education, 13 (1), 37–47. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1991). The effect of instruction on sociocultural beliefs hindering the learning of science. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 28 (3), 275–285. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1992). Differences in sociocultural environment perceptions associated with gender in science classrooms. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 29 (7), 635–647. Jegede, O.J. & Okebukola, P.A.O. (1993). Measuring the effects of sociocultural factors in non-western science classrooms. The Hong Kong Journal of Educational Research, 8, 40–47. Jegede, O.J. & Olajide, J.O. (1995). Wait-time, classroom discourse and the influence of sociocultural factors in science teaching in the Nigerian context. Science Education, 79 (2). Kintsch, W. (1994). Text comprehension, memory, and reaming. American Psychologist, 49 (4), 294–303. Levy-Bruhl, L. (1960). Primitive Mentality in E.E.Evans-Pritchard (Ed.), Theories of Primitive Religion, (pp. 78–99). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Linder, C.J. (1992). Is teacher-reflected epistemology a source of


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Robeck, E. (1994). Authentic science: The place of students’s indigenous knowledge. An unpublished mimeograph. University of British Colombia, Vancouver, BC, Canada. Schutz, A. & Luckmann, T. (1973). Structures of the life world. London: Heinemann. Sogolo, G. (1994). Prescriptions from a lost generation. A mimeograph. University of Ibadan, Nigeria. Solomon, J. (1989). The social construction of school science. In R. Millar (Ed.), Doing science: Images of science and science education, (pp. 126–136). New York: Falmer Press. Steiner, G. (1971). In Bluebeard’s castle. Some notes towards the reflection of culture. New Haven: Yale University Press. Sweller, J. (1994). Cognitive load theory, learning difficulty, and instructional design. Learning and Instruction, 4, 295–312. Swift, D. (1992). Indigenous knowledge in the service of science and technology in developing countries. Studies in Science Education, 20, 1–28. Taylor, J.C. (1994). Novex analysis: A cognitive science approach to instructional design. Educational Technology, 34 (5), 5–13. Taylor, J.C., Jegede, O.J. & Naidu, S. (1995). Novex analysis: A cognitive science based approach to instructional design for distance education. A paper prepared for the 17th World Conference on Distance Education. The International Convention Centre, Birmingham, United Kingdom, 26–30 June. Tennyson, R.D. (1992). An educational learning theory for instructional design. Educational Technology, 32 (1), 36–41. Tobin, K. (Ed.). (1993). The practice of constructivism in science education. Washington, D.C.: AAA Press. Yackel, E., Cobb, P., Wood, T., Wheatley, G., & Merkel, G. (1990). The importance of social interactions in children’s construction of mathematical knowledge. In T.Cooney (Ed.), Yearbook of the National Council of Teachers of Mathematics. Reston, VA: NCTM. von Glasersfeld, E. (1990). An exposition of constructivism: Why some like it radical. In R.B.Davis., C.A.Maher., & N.Noddings (Eds.), Constructivist views on the teaching and learning of mathematics. Journal of Research in Mathematics Education Monographs. 4, 19–29. Reston, VA: National Council of Teachers of Mathematics. Wiredu, K. (1980). Philosophy and an African culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

CHAPTER SIX

Indigenous Knowledge, Indigenous Learning, Indigenous Research Jill Abdullah and Ernie Stringer Introduction We have recently become more sensitive to the understanding that knowledge does not exist in objective, decontextualized forms, but is intimately linked to specific contexts, people and issues. This understanding is particularly relevant for indigenous people whose systems of knowledge have been subordinated by the forces of colonization that have worked to subvert their social and cultural life. In this chapter we talk to issues related to the generation and reformulation of indigenous knowledge in university contexts. We show how recent developments in postgraduate programs at the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University in West Australia provide a context to ensure the primacy of Aboriginal systems of knowledge. We commence with the historical context of Aboriginal education and show how the structures and processes of university education and research have been reconstructed so that Aboriginal systems of knowledge are central to empowering processes of education and research. In this context traditional systems of education that use indigenous people as subjects and objects of inquiry have been transformed into approaches to inquiry that are for, by and with Aboriginal people. Higher Education and Aboriginal Empowerment In the last thirty years, the failure of education systems to meet the educational needs of Aboriginal people in Australia has become a national disgrace. One author argues (Social Justice Collective, 1991): “Despite the 20 years which have elapsed since [the 1967 referendum] Aboriginal people still have very little access to meaningful and useful education.” Since that referendum, a variety of research studies, royal

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commission reports, national education reports and other more political processes have emphasized the need to take action on provision of education for Australia’s Aboriginal. Despite considerable shifts in government policies and the injection of significant levels of funding, tangible outcomes that appear to have made a significant difference in the educational status of Aboriginal people are limited. Some policies and programs designed to increase education enrollments, participation and retention rates of Aboriginal people from pre-primary to higher education by funding a variety of programs and support services have met with some degree of success, providing paths to higher education for high school students and mature-age students who had previously been deprived the opportunity of a university education. Many programs, however, still operate in ways that are alien to or disempowering of Aboriginal people, since they focus solely on course content and educational processes related to the cultural perspectives of non-Aboriginal educators. Policies and programs devised by non-Aboriginal people on the basis of nonAboriginal research have not significantly changed the social or educational position of Aboriginal peoples or enabled them to be in a position to make decisions about their future. Byrnes (1993) argues that adult education and learning styles common to mainstream educational institutions conflict with non-Aboriginal approaches to learning and therefore threaten Aboriginal culture. Universities attempt to assimilate emic knowledge, or Aboriginal ways of knowing, into programs that are fundamentally oriented to mainstream learning processes. The mainstream system is often intimidating for Aboriginal people and though sometimes valid for individual career development are often inappropriate to the educational, social or cultural needs of the majority of Aboriginal peoples. In the United States a similar state of affairs appears to prevail. Barnhardt (1990) contends that indigenous peoples have had to create their own institutions because existing educational institutions are not meeting the needs of indigenous peoples. While some attempts have been made to introduce independent Aboriginal higher education institutions, some universities have sought to provide programs that are specifically relevant to the needs of Aboriginal people. There is a need, in these circumstances, for universities to rethink the ways in which knowledge is produced and transmitted, so that indigenous perspectives are able to emerge as central ingredients of the educational processes.

Indigenous Knowledge, Learning, Research

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The purpose of this study is to provide an account of the development of a postgraduate program that specifically caters to the educational, cultural and social needs of Aboriginal people. We will describe an innovative postgraduate program within the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University of Technology in Western Australia. This program not only recognizes the importance of Aboriginal knowledge, identity and self-determination, but also the necessity to prevent the perpetuation of colonization through an awareness of the extent to which Aboriginal lives are shaped and controlled by outside influences. The program also acknowledges that individual, community and social change must begin by looking inside and valuing Aboriginal expertise and experience, rather than looking outward, solely through the cultural lenses of academic systems of knowledge. The underlying purpose of the program is to ensure that indigenous people have control of the systems of knowledge that effect their lives and use them to promote self-determination in ways that mainstream systems do not allow. The Centre of Aboriginal Studies: An Organizational Context for Indigenous Research The Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University of Technology in Western Australia recognizes the extent to which the control of indigenous knowledge is embedded in university life. It has developed an organizational structure that ensures that all courses and research projects are controlled by Aboriginal people and operates in ways that seek to ensure the primacy of their perspectives. The Centre works on the assumption that Aboriginal Terms of Reference provide the primary criteria for its structure and operation. In consequence, except for exceptional circumstances, all leadership positions are held by Aboriginal people. The Head of the Centre and the Coordinator of each of the operational units, for instance, are specifically designated Aboriginal positions. Aboriginality, for these key positions, is given precedence over formal university qualifications. In addition, decisions about day to day operations are made by an Aboriginal Management Committee, and policy of the Centre rests in the hands of an Aboriginal Advisory Committee drawn from community representatives across Western Australia. Thus although the Centre as a formal unit of the Division of Humanities within the structure of the university must operate within the parameters of university policy for all formal aspects of its operation, including its budget, planning procedures, staffing, program accreditation and so on, it does so according to processes

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that ensure that, as far as possible, the social and educational needs of Aboriginal are the primary driving forces of its operation. This general approach to organization and operation is apparent in the development of postgraduate courses. Rather than adding relevant Aboriginal units of study to existing mainstream course offerings, the postgraduate courses in Indigenous Research and Development were specifically formulated on the basis of approaches to research that accept Aboriginal systems of knowledge as central to processes of inquiry and investigation. The program is designed to prepare people to formulate and implement modes of inquiry that are specifically relevant to the social and cultural needs of Aboriginal and other indigenous peoples. The courses validate Aboriginal culture by valuing and recognizing Aboriginal ways of learning and Aboriginal systems of knowledge. Graduate research programs operate according to a set of protocols that ensure teaching, research and development processes are consistent with Aboriginal terms of reference, as well as normal University criteria for academic acceptability. In practice the courses provide the means to develop policies, programs and services that are responsive to the needs of Aboriginal people and work in the interest of positive social change. They also suggest ways in which traditional practices embedded in the university system might be modified to enable truly indigenous systems of knowledge to emerge. A Postgraduate Program in Indigenous Research and Development The postgraduate program within the Centre for Aboriginal Studies comprises two courses: A Master of Arts, and a Postgraduate Diploma in Indigenous Research and Development. The Master of Arts requires the equivalent of two years of full-time study. Participants in the course study full-time at the Curtin campus for the first semester, but may elect full-time of part-time study for the remainder of their course. The Postgraduate Diploma is the equivalent of the first year of the Master’s course. The major components of the program include coursework (five units of study), fieldwork, and thesis preparation: Semester 1

Semester 2

Semester 3

Semester 4

Coursework

Fieldwork

Fieldwork

Thesis


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Participants in the program work with the support of a three-person Supervising Panel comprised of two members of the university’s academic staff with relevant specialist expertise and an Aboriginal academic staff member of the Centre. Fieldwork is also monitored by an Aboriginal Reference Group drawn from Aboriginal groups participating in the study. The Reference Group includes an Aboriginal Mentor who provides support and feedback for the research facilitator (student). The major purpose of the program is to enhance the skills of professional practitioners so that they are able to plan and implement effective and culturally appropriate research and development processes in diverse Aboriginal contexts. The research in which participants engage maximizes opportunities for local Aboriginal participation and control, provides direct, tangible benefits for those who are the focus of the research activities, and develops an Aboriginal knowledge base that is relevant to the contexts studied. Research processes are enriched and challenged by exploration of non-Aboriginal disciplinary and professional systems of knowledge and practice. Coursework Coursework reflects the philosophy of the program, so that the development of Aboriginal systems of knowledge is central to participant’s work. The major purpose of coursework units, however, is to develop the capabilities of student researchers to enact culturally appropriate research in Aboriginal contexts. Units include: ADVANCED ABORIGINAL STUDIES that extends participants understanding of Aboriginal systems of knowledge. It assists them exploring the types and/or forms of knowledge that are implicit in the everyday lives of Aboriginal peoples, and the ways that Aboriginal people describe, interpret and explain (make meaningful) their experience of the world. The unit also helps participants distinguish between everyday, “insider” (emic or phenomenological) types and forms of knowledge that relate to particular Aboriginal contexts, from those that derive from “outsider” (etic, disciplinary or bureaucratic) perspectives. The major purpose of this unit is to ensure that students are able to understand the multiple perspectives that may be brought to bear on Aboriginal issues, and to make judgements about if, where and how “outsider” knowledge might be integrated with knowledge indigenous to Aboriginal cultural settings.

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SYSTEMS OF KNOWLEDGE focuses on the ways that the lives of Aboriginal people have been described, interpreted and explained by non-Aboriginal people. It focuses particularly on the different perspectives incorporated in academic disciplines, bureaucratic policies and programs, and professional practices. It also briefly explores other forms of knowledge, including mysticism, Eastern philosophies, religion and metaphysics. The major purpose of the unit is to provide participants with an understanding of the types of knowledge that might be incorporated within a research process, and to give them practice in making judgements about if or how they might be used appropriately in Aboriginal contexts. QUALITATIVE ACTION RESEARCH METHODS provides participants with an understanding of the purposes of research and development activity and develops the skills required for participatory, interpretive investigations in Aboriginal contexts. An underlying principle is that research processes should include knowledge (descriptions, understandings, interpretations and explanations) that (a) make sense to the Aboriginal people who are the focus of the research and (b) can be applied to the resolution of a problem they have identified. Within this unit participants develop a Candidacy Proposal, a Thesis Plan, and a Research Action Plan that forms the basis for their research and development work. SPECIALIZATION provides opportunities for participants to develop expertise in specific areas relevant to their research. The unit may includes inputs from relevant academic disciplines, professional practice, and government policies and programs. It provides the basis for an ongoing program of study that emerges from and contributes to the research and development project. Products of this unit form part of the Literature Review section of the Master’s thesis. ELECTRONIC COMMUNICATIONS AND INFORMATION MANAGEMENT enables participants to extend their computer skills and to use technology to support their research and development work in the field. Participants learn how to use computers to enhance their ability to communicate with staff, peers, research associates and other people with expertise. They also use computers to gain access to the information resources available through the World Wide Web. The unit provides the capability for participants to engage in ongoing


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discussions with staff, peer support networks, electronic seminars, and gain access to literature and other resources. Philosophical Foundations: Interpretive, Action Oriented Research The current academic era may be characterized as one in which there is “doubt that any discourse has a privileged place, any method of theory a universal and general claim to authoritative knowledge” (Richardson, 1991). In this context postgraduate programs in the Centre for Aboriginal Studies are based on the supposition that forms of knowledge that are indigenous to or emerge from the everyday, takenfor-granted knowledge inherent in Aboriginal social contexts have as much validity, legitimacy or authority as those derived from academic disciplines or bureaucratic policies. The intent, therefore, is to acknowledge the limitations of expert knowledge and to “acknowledge the skill and know-how, the experience and understanding, and the compassion and wisdom of ordinary [Aboriginal] people, particularly as they are brought to bear on problems and needs in [their community] lives” (Shephard, 1996). Research within postgraduate programs, therefore, differs from more traditional, quantitative approaches to research in some fundamental ways. The approach to inquiry advocated in these courses does not have the purpose of generating generalizable truths or advancing disciplinary knowledge. Rather, in accordance with the purposes mapped out in the Handbook of Qualitative Research (Denzin and Lincoln, 1994) research is envisaged as a close-knit set of practices that provides solutions to a problem in a concrete situation. In consequence, the research is likely to be multi-method in approach, the choice of research practices depending on the questions asked and the context in which the research takes place. This reflects an attempt to secure indepth understandings that lead to actions and activities designed to provide a solution to the problem in question. These indepth understandings represent new epistemologies (ways of knowing) that are more relevant to the lives of indigenous people, whose cultural knowledge has previously been silenced by the restrictions of positivistic scientific method. As Lincoln suggests (1993), the methods advocated offer solutions to the problematic representations of an aloof [objective] researcher and replace “grand narratives” with more local, smallscale theories fitted to specific problems and specific situations.

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The purpose of coursework, therefore, is to provide participants in postgraduate programs with the skills that enable them to enact research processes with Aboriginal people that provide important insights— knowledge and understanding—that assist them “making sense” of the problem under investigation. In the process they will also compare and contrast this locally developed knowledge with knowledge from disciplinary, bureaucratic, specialist or other expert sources, incorporating knowledge from these origins where it increases the power of research to develop solutions to the problem being investigated. Aboriginal and Academic Terms of Reference Until recently, universities assumed that Western philosophic and scientific knowledge would provide foundational knowledge or ultimate truths that would enable people to understanding the “real” nature of the physical and social universe. In recent years the limitations of this perspective has led a significant group of scholars to suggest that a variety of forms of knowledge can contribute to our understanding of the world and provide the means to deal more effectively with the issues and problems that confront people in their social lives. In particular, there is recognition that the development of knowledge and understanding related to particular social and cultural contexts must be based on and continue to take into account the systems of knowledge that are inherent in those contexts. Postgraduate studies within the Centre for Aboriginal Studies, therefore, are driven by two major sets of assumptions: •

•

Aboriginal Terms of Reference (ATR) that provide the means for making decisions about the forms of knowledge and action that are right, good or appropriate in Aboriginal contexts; and Academic Terms of Reference (AcTR) that provide the criteria for deciding what is right, good or appropriate within the academic world.

Both might be considered complementary means of defining excellence and both are considered to have the potential to illuminate the problem being investigated. The latter, however, is not considered, in this context, to be logically or philosophically superior. Meanings that emanate from AcTR have relevance only to the extent that they are able to enrich those understandings that emerge from the local context in which each specific research project is grounded.


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Within the postgraduate program both course structure and course operation reflect the relationship of these Terms of Reference. We work on the assumption that existing Aboriginal systems of knowledge are central to the research and development work in which program participants engage. The primary purpose of their research activity is to assist Aboriginal people extending and enriching their understanding of problematic features of social life. They encourage Aboriginal people to enact processes of investigation or inquiry that reveal and enhance their existing systems of knowledge through processes of observation, reflection and analysis. In the process, program participants also help them consider Western knowledge that might fruitfully be incorporated into their investigations. Preliminary Protocols: Aboriginal Terms of Reference for Development and Operation of the Program The design and operation of this postgraduate program of study emerged from careful processes of consultation and curriculum development. A set of preliminary protocols was devised with Aboriginal staff, students, ex-students and community members and provided guidance for staff responsible for development and implementation of the program. The protocols are not seen as final and will be reconstituted by postgraduate program participants, and the Centre’s Aboriginal Management Committee and Aboriginal Advisory Committee. In their current form, however, they read as follows: Vision Graduate studies within the Centre for Aboriginal Studies will be directed to the survival, continued growth and enrichment of Aboriginal people and their heritage. Programs will implement a thoughtful, contemplative approach to education that enhances Aboriginal social life by ensuring a continuing focus on the stable, rich heritage of Aboriginal tradition, culture and thought. They will seek to change the thinking which underlies existing practices and to develop an Aboriginal vision that integrates local Aboriginal ways and current mainstream practices. Philosophy The following assumptions form the philosophical basis for the development of graduate programs:

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• WAYS OF KNOWING Programs of study will incorporate ways of knowing which are distinctively Aboriginal and not limited to Western ways of thinking and patterns of thought. • CULTURE, IDENTITY AND SPIRITUALITY Cultural and spiritual thought provides an overarching set of ideas that enhances the identity of all people and serves as the basis for practical action. • LOCAL ABORIGINAL WAYS AND CURRENT MAINSTREAM PRACTICES Programs will enable people to develop an Aboriginal vision by looking inward, meditatively, and integrating local Aboriginal ways and current mainstream practices. • CHANGE Graduate studies will not educate participants to simply maintain the status quo or improve current practices, but will seek to change the thinking which underlies them. Outcomes • Graduates of the programs will: • Be thinkers and philosophers, rather than just more efficient administrators. • Be empowered within themselves to do necessary healing, not to naively wield more power in the systems. • Respond to policy and management issues through their own history and culture, rather than the dictates of government or other authorities. • Have the skills and knowledge to assist Aboriginal people in developing a strong economic base and attain social justice. • Operate according to consciously Aboriginal ethical practices. Educational Processes Traditional academic practices do not recognize that educating Aboriginal people is a cross-cultural process and fail to provide for their educational needs. Most Aboriginal people, for instance, live in situations which are geographically remote from and culturally alien to university campus life. Teaching/learning processes in graduate


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programs need to take account of the reality of their social life, their educational history and their unique learning styles. The following assumptions, therefore, guide the development of teaching/learning processes in postgraduate programs: •

•

•

•

•

PRACTICAL RELEVANCE There should be direct links between theoretical work and the everyday life and problems experienced by Aboriginal people. EXPERIENTIAL LEARNING Experiential learning based on the social and cultural reality of Aboriginal people must be central to postgraduate programs. SUCCESS-ORIENTED LEARNING Educational processes must be success-oriented, making use of approaches to learning which accentuate Aboriginal capabilities and competencies. PHILOSOPHIC DIVERSITY Theory and practice will recognize the legitimacy and authenticity of Aboriginal worldviews and structures of thought. Western theoretical perspectives will provide diverse worldviews, but not be seen as logically superior to Aboriginal perspectives. OFF-CAMPUS STUDY Provision will be made for students who must necessarily study off-campus

Research • Methods of research and development must accept the legitimacy and authenticity of Aboriginal modes of inquiry. • Research should be directly relevant to the ongoing needs and aspirations of Aboriginal people. • Local Aboriginal people should be an integral part of any research process enacted in their context. Conclusion Recent movements within the social sciences have revealed the extent to which traditional approaches to academic research are tied to the perspectives, agendas, interests and experience of the researcher. Research agendas that purport to develop an objective “body of knowledge” that provides ultimate truths about the social world can no longer be sustained. A “crisis of representation” (Denzin and Lincoln 1994) has emerged that casts doubt on the veracity, validity or utility of textual and narrative accounts that privilege the perspectives, statuses and systems of meaning of the scholar.

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Accounts of social life derived from academic research are now recognized as social texts that intrude on people’s lives and impose systems of meaning onto those who are subjects of study. We are now increasingly sensitive to the colonizing potential of these systems of meaning and more aware of the ways that social scientific explanations can be irrelevant and sometimes damaging to the lives of the people they purport to study. This is particularly true for indigenous peoples whose social and cultural perspectives and the systems of meaning inherent in their daily lives are the product of life-worlds dramatically different from the Eurocentric perspectives that tend to predominate in academic circles. Current critiques suggest the need to develop forms of understanding firmly rooted in the perspectives, interests and agendas of the people who have previously been “subjects” of study. In this context, therefore, Indigenous Studies emerges, not just as a means of providing social scientists with indigenous objects of study, but as a legitimate and authentic system of knowledge in its own right. By situating indigenous people at the centre of the research act and using their systems of knowledge and understanding as the basis for inquiry and investigation, we open the possibility of dramatically extending the knowledge base of indigenous people and transforming their understanding of the social and cultural world. The potential for recasting the philosophic frames of reference for academic research lies not only in the impact it might have on the lives of indigenous people, however. It holds the promise, clearly expressed by Marcus and Fischer (1986), of intimately representing and valorizing difference and diversity, providing an epistemological and cultural critique that demystifies mainstream cultural representations, revealing interests behind and within cultural meanings expressed in social texts and discourses, and increasing understanding of the forms of domination and power that exist in mainstream society. Programs at the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University of Technology provide a pragmatic response to these issues. They provide an example of ways that universities may respond to the critiques of recent scholarship and the transformations in organizational structure, pedagogical practice and research process that are possible. In these contexts indigenous and non-indigenous scholars may truly respond to West’s (1989) challenge to give up the search for the foundations of knowledge and the quest for certainty,


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and to apply their energies to defining the social and communal conditions by which people can communicate more effectively and cooperate in the process of acquiring knowledge. Postgraduate programs at the Centre provide an Aboriginal-controlled context where scholars and Aboriginal people, by educating and being educated by struggling peoples, will be able to relate the life of the mind to the collective life of the community. References Barnhardt, R. (1990). Higher education in the fourth world: Indigenous people taking control. Canadian Journal of Native Education 18 (2), 199–231. Byrnes, J. (1993). Aboriginal learning styles and adult education: Is a synthesis possible? Australian Journal of Adult and Community Education 3 (3), November, 157–227. Denzin, N. and Lincoln, Y. (1994). Introduction: Entering the field of qualitative research. The Handbook of Qualitative Research. 1–18. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Lincoln (1993, Jan 27–28) Notes toward a fifth generation of evaluation: Lessons from the voiceless or, toward a postmodern politics of evaluation. Paper presented at the fifth annual meeting of the southeast evaluation association, Tallahassee, FL. Marcus, G. and Fischer, M. (1986). Anthropology as Cultural Critique. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Richardson, L. (1991). Postmodern social theory. Sociological Theory 9, 173–179. Social Justice Collective (1991). Aboriginal Australians: The inequality continues. Inequality in Australia. 193–220. Melbourne: William Heinmann.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Indigenous Knowledge Systems Ecological Literacy Through Initiation into People’s Science Madhu Suri Prakash Science vs. Indigenous Knowledge Systems “Science is science,” maintain its propagators, affirming the project of modern science (“natural” or “social”) with tautologies like these; as do all those others, professionals and lay persons alike, who share their deep faith in modern systems of knowledge or epistemologies deemed “scientific.” A central part of their reiterations of such tautological statements is to perform the modern radical surgery emphasizing that there has occurred a historical paradigm shift in concepts, processes and products associated with the production of modern knowledge systems; contrasting these from the ideas, practices, processes and products associated with indigenous or traditional systems of knowledge. In condescension, the latter continue to be called both “pre-modern” and “non-science”: in other words, intrinsically defined not by what they are, but by what they are not; by what they cannot be. “In other words,” state moderns (scientists and their supporters) while clarifying their tautological assertions about their own system of knowledge, “there is no such thing as a Punjabi or a Kenyan or a New Yorker science. Science is science regardless of the cultural context where it is being taught, learned or practiced.” In the same way, clarify its proponents and faithful followers, “(S)cience is science whether known, learned or practiced by woman or man. There is no such thing as a man’s science or a woman’s science.” This perception of its socalled cultural or gender “neutrality”—of being neutered from culture or gender, among other non-universalizables—is emphasized and affirmed by its propagators, fans and faithful followers to distinguish (S)cience (sometimes written with a big “S” to underscore its rank

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and distinction qua modern system of knowledge) from the beliefs, theories and practices that constitute the knowledge systems of indigenous or traditional peoples. The limits of the latter systems of knowledge, underscore their critics, include the fact that they are inextricably defined, shaped and linked to culture. Ethnicity, place, soil and other elements localize, confine and define them. In radical contrast, the principles and practices that constitute and define “science” are neither shaped nor determined by culture, ethnicity, race, class, gender, age and any other nonuniversalizable characteristics. The principles and practices of Science remain the same, regardless of the cultural context in which they are discovered or implemented. A Punjabi scientist applies the same principles of biology or physics as does his/her Pennsylvanian counterpart. Therefore, these principles and practices are universal and objective. For (modern) scientists, unlike all the non-modern or traditional varieties of pundits, priests, shamans, “witch doctors” or gurus, are taught to transcend their cultural/personal idiosyncracies and peculiarities in order to be able to take the objective “view from nowhere;” and, being from “nowhere,” the scientific view may also be characterized as being the view from “everywhere”: universal—as imputed to the divine seer or the eye view of the gods by traditional or indigenous peoples. This view of their own modern enterprise has been used by scientists to contrast Science with a big “S” from all the other systems of knowledge developed by indigenous and other cultural groups to protect, promote and perpetuate their cultural modes of living— including those of cultivation or healing, building or “transportation,” learning or teaching. Unlike the indigenous or traditional versions of these processes and their products, modern education and modern Science, like medicine, transportation or construction, are not defined by the limits of ethnicity or locality, culture or gender. The universal nature of the modern sciences supposedly explain, justify and legitimize their assertions of universalizability. Postmodern thought, recent as well as not-so-recent, has challenged this account of (modern) Science asserted by its propagators, faithful fans or promoters. The postmodern deconstruction of modern science with a big “S” has come from the ecology, feminist, peace and justice, as well as other grassroots movements, protesting the particular cultural as well as personal, gender and other interests that have in the past and present continue to determine and direct the project of (modern)

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Science.1 Its deconstructors and postmodern critics have shown how inextricably linked the project of modern science is to the modern centralization of power and control; as well as to the oppression, violence and mass ignorance perpetrated through the inequalities created by the global centralization of knowledge/power. Deconstructions of (modern) Science emphasize one of two important paths. One path involves deliberately limiting the use of the word “science” to the modern knowledge system created by the patriarchs of Western cultural hegemony. In doing so, postmodern feminists, ecologists and others continue to use the term “science” employed by its propagators and supporters, but with a very different set of motivations and political intentions. They deliberately follow the limited use of their terms by the fathers and descendants of modern science in order to express their own resistance to, disenchantment with and distancing from the patriarchal project; and, in doing so, to protect indigenous systems of knowledge from being tainted by it. The second set of deconstructors and critics, however, take the path of extending the use of the word “science” to include traditional or indigenous systems of knowledge; but, in doing so, they are also taking pains to classify the latter as “science by the people”; distinguishing it from the modern, centralized project of patriarchy called “science for the people.” Science For People vs. Science By People “Science is funded research,” observe the postmodern critics of modern science, like Ivan Illich. Distinguishing “science for people” from “science by people,” Illich (1981) notes that “science by people” is in opposition to “science for people.” The latter “designates something called research and development or, since World War II, simply R and D. R and D is usually conducted by large institutions—governments, industry, universities, clinics, the military, foundations…. It is usually a highly prestigious activity, done for the common good—so its supporters and practitioners claim—and is expensive and tax-exempt. (It has) no bearing on the immediate everyday activities of him who does it. R and D can be carried out on neutron bombs, muscular dystrophy, solar cells or fish ponds—(supposedly) always for the service of the people” (Illich 1981, p. 513, Emphasis added). People’s science, in contrast, “designates research done with few or no funds, sponsorship, no access to publication in the prestigious journals, producing results that are without interest to the supermarket…. (The) people who do it…work…in tiny teams,

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primarily for results that directly shape their mode of living, are uninterested in patents, rarely produce finished products for sale” (Illich 1991, p. 513). Elaborating upon many of the moral, ecological, and socio-political implications of these two distinct and incompatible types of science or knowledge systems identified as “science of/by the people” or “science for the people,” Claude Alvares applauds and supports only the former. At the same time, he reveals the cultural and ecological damage being perpetrated by “science for the people” on a global scale. Documenting many of the strengths of the former and the many weaknesses of the latter, he writes that “in human history, at least up until the scientific and industrial revolutions, the technical knowledge necessary for survival had mostly remained non-centralized and radically dispersed. Literally millions of arts and technologies existed—all using a vast variety of accumulated knowledge and productive of a huge quantum of good, cultural ideas and symbols stemming from the rich diversity of human experience, and based principally on exploiting processes at ambient temperatures. In many ways, this technical diversity of the human species more or less paralleled the genetic diversity of nature itself (Alvares 1992, p. 227). Illich and others have celebrated the creations or creative productions and “engineerings” of this “science of people” as “tools of conviviality.” In radical contrast, when we study the case of “science for people,” we learn that “the very conception of what constituted human normality was itself redefined. People lost the right to claim that they could function as competent human beings unless they underwent the indoctrination required by modernity. It was a priori assumed that they were deficient as human beings and had to be remade…. [This] scientific policy resolution [is]…committed to compromising the survival possibilities and niches of larger and larger masses of people. By and large, it found the people’s knowledge competitive and therefore offensive. And since it maintained a contemptuous attitude towards folk science, it also treated people’s rights to use resources in their own way with scant respect” (Alvares 1992, p. 230). Elaborating upon these themes of oppression and denigration of all traditional peoples by those with the modern power of scientific knowledge, Alvares joins other postmodern scholars in revealing how “Science” or “science for the people” is far from being culturally “neutral” or “universal.” The Indian Alvares identifies it as distinctly “another culture’s product, a recognizably foreign entity…an epoch-specific, ethnic

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(Western) and culture-specific (culturally entombed) project, one that is a politically directed, artificially induced stream of consciousness invading and distorting, and often attempting to take over, the larger, more stable canvas of human perceptions and experience. In a world consisting of dominating and dominated societies, some cultures are bound to be considered more equal than others. This heritage of inequality, inaugurated and cemented during colonialism, has remained still largely intact today. So the culture products of the West, including its science, are able to claim compelling primacy and universal validity only because of their…congenital relationship with the political throne of global power” (Alvares 1992, p. 219–220). The nexus of knowledge and power implicated in the modern project of Western science is revealed in the rampant destruction of indigenous knowledge systems through the post-WWII project of global development. The politically innocent characterize this era as the end of the era of colonialism, brought on by the emergence of the modern politically independent nation state. Postdevelopment scholars, however, trace how Western natural science became the ally of Western political science, globally creating neo-colonial independent states. In this era, the “intimate enemies” (Nandy 1983) of the people, imbibing through Western acculturation/”education” the mindset of their colonizers, join the latter in determining that their own compatriots need “science” as much as they need “progress” to escape from the (sustainable) subsistence that peoples’ science gave them for thousands of generations. And so the newly independent nation states continue the colonial project through its neo-colonial guise called “Development” to destroy the latter.2 In the post-WWII modern, supposedly independent, nation state, Alvares likens the importation of the new product called “science” with the toothpaste that has very recently begun to replace the indigenous use of the neem stick and other non-industrial or natures’ creations used to cleanse teeth over hundreds of generations. Just like its product, the industrial toothpaste, the well advertized modern science offers to flush out the many disabling superstitions from all those hidden crevices of a society’s soul, to eliminate any and every offending bacteria, to produce a clean and ordered world. Most important, it promises a materialist paradise for the world’s underprivileged through its awesome, magical powers. But not for any reason difficult to understand, it also continues to require as big an advertising budget as toothpaste. There is something about modernity’s leading prestige

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product that is actually so bland it has to be rendered spectacular by sensational copy and a fertile imagination (Alvares 1992, p. 219). In the neo-colonial global project of development operationalized through the independent nation states, “science (the archetypical instrument) was entrusted with the turn-key role of promising undreamed of standards of material well-being to the so-called poor of the planet” (Alvares 1992, p. 225). Analyzing how the contemporary project of national economic development continues the colonial oppression of indigenous peoples by their “intimate enemies” today, Alvares notes that the modern nations’ new leaders like Sudan’s Abel Alier have declared: “If we have to drive our people to paradise with sticks, we will do so for their own good and the good of those who come after us” (Alvares 1992, p. 226). Exploring the oppressiveness for traditional peoples and their knowledge systems emerging from the modern marriage of independent nation state with “science for the people,” Alvares and other postdevelopment scholars describe how and why the modern nation state does not respect the right of the people not to be developed. Most important of all, the modern state’s interest in such development itself owed much to the latter’s constant search for ways and means to compromise, erode, and oftentimes severely diminish personal autonomy, and the creativity and political freedom that went with it. In a democracy, people can govern themselves, but they can hardly do so if their governments are seriously attempting at the same time to see whether they can be successfully managed and changed (Alvares 1992, p. 230). Tracing the history of the past five Development Decades, Alvares observes that once the ordinary people’s epistemologic rights were devalued, the state could proceed to use allegedly scientific criteria to supplant such rights with officially sponsored and defined perceptions and needs. “Science’s propaganda, that it alone provided a valid description of nature, was turned into a stick with which to beat transscientific, or folk-scientific, descriptions of nature. It continues gallantly attempting to replace the science of the village sorcerer or tantrik with the barbarism of modern science’s electric shock treatment or frontal lobotomies…. This expansion of the domain of scientific epistemology [has] involved the most sustained deprivation of others’ epistemologic rights. State policy being committed to this one epistemology exclusively, abused or ignored others. In medicine, to take just one example, the bias exercised against Indian systems of healing in favor of imported allopathy needs little documentation” (Alvares 1992, p. 230).

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What modern medicine has done to traditional healing practices is reflected also in the destruction of traditional soil or agriculture by the modern agri-business sciences. It is also replicated in the contemporary pattern of imposing modern Western education where traditional practices of cultural initiation have flourished over scores of generations. Power decides what is knowledge and what is not knowledge. Thus modern science actually attempted to suppress even non-competitive, but different ways of interacting with man, nature and the cosmos. It warred to empty the planet of all divergent streams of episteme in order to assert the unrivalled hegemony of its own batch of rules and set of perceptions, the latter being clearly linked with the aggressive thrusts of Western culture (Alvares 1992, p. 230). Thus, in the scientists’ war of “science for people” imposed upon “science by people,” knowledge continues to shrink. Alvares points to the illusion of thinking that modern science expanded possibilities for real knowledge. In actual fact, it made knowledge scarce. It overextended certain frontiers, eliminated or blocked others. Thus it actually narrowed down the possibilities for enriching knowledge available to human experience. It did appear to generate a phenomenal information explosion. But information is information, not knowledge. The most that can be said of information is that it is but knowledge in degraded, distorted form. Science should have been critically understood not as an instrument for expanding knowledge, but for colonizing and controlling the direction of knowledge, and consequently human behavior, within a straight and narrow path conducive to the design of the project (Alvares 1992, pp. 230–231). Environmental Science vs. Subsistence Science The continuing war of “science for the people” perpetrated upon “peoples’ science” brings us to the current “Age of Ecology.” The age has dawned with the growing realization of the danger of this war not only for humans, but for most forms of life on earth. The modern scientific response to the disease has focused upon curing nature by more doses of “science for the people.” For the most part, the growing species of “expert” professional environmentalists and proponents of environmental education support the proliferation of ultra-modern, state-of-the-art technologies and global facilities (connected by information superhighways) for healing the ecological ills of the sick planet earth. Paradigmatic examples of this include NASA spaceships that study the ozone hole, among other planetary ills and while doing

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so, exacerbate the very problem they are supposed to help research and rectify. In marked contrast, a minority of alternative environmental educators focus upon knowledge systems that offer radical alternatives to modern epistemologies, institutions and technologies. The search for non-modern solutions to the ecological and cultural problems of modernity is engaging this small but growing number of contemporary scholars in studying and reassessing the importance of indigenous and other knowledge systems. Over the last five centuries, due to the colonizing global spread of modern knowledge systems, technologies and institutions, the majority of the world’s indigenous knowledge systems have either already been rendered extinct or teeter on the brink of extinction—as threatened cultural species (with their analogues among the disappearing nonhuman natural species). Until quite recently, educators have not perceived these phenomena as a serious loss, given their classification of indigenous knowledge systems as “primitive” or “non-modern”. The recent burgeoning of postmodern educational philosophies, however, is opening new doors which lead towards the serious study and research of indigenous knowledge systems. Particularly among postmodern thinkers and educators concerned about ecological illiteracy among “educated” moderns, indigenous knowledge systems are being studied and researched not as mere anthropological curiosities. Rather, their relevance and importance is being explored with explicit attention upon educational aims and means that offer genuine alternatives to initiation into the “monoculture” of modernity. Indigenous knowledge systems are being studied by some of the scholars interested in “border crossings” beyond their disciplines. These include ecofeminists, multiculturalists, as well as others engaged in the enterprise of creating sustainable postmodern societies. In articulating this interest, postmodern environmental educators like David Orr are drawing important distinctions between “technological sustainability” and “ecological sustainability” (Orr 1992). This distinction reveals the serious limitations of the most “advanced” varieties of “techno-fixes,” while advancing or underscoring the importance of regenerating indigenous knowledge systems in the interests of ecological sustainability. “Eco-developers” calling for technological sustainability are simply transforming “ecological politics from a call for new public virtues into a set of managerial strategies” (Sachs 1989). Studying the transformation

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of the ecology movement from being the first anti-modernist movement to its rebirth as the “science of ecology,” Sachs observes how and why the “global ecosystems approach” has come to dominate: (W)ithout recourse to science, the ecology movement would probably have remained a bunch of nature freaks and never acquired the power of a historical force. One secret of its success lies precisely in its hybrid character. As a movement highly suspicious of science and technical rationality, it plays anew the counter-melody which has accompanied the history of modernity ever since romanticism. But as a science-based movement, it is capable of questioning the foundations of modernity and contesting its logic in the very name of science. In fact, the ecology movement seems to be the first anti-modernist movement attempting to justify its claims with the enemy’s own means. It resorts not only to the arts (like the romantics), to organicism (like the conservatives), to the glory of nature (like preservationists), or to a transcendental creed (like the fundamentalists), although all these themes are present, but it bases its challenge on ecosystems theory which integrates physics, chemistry and biology. This unique achievement, however, cuts both ways: the science of ecology gives rise to a scientific anti-modernism which has succeeded largely in disrupting the dominant discourse, yet the science of ecology opens the way for the technocratic recuperation of the protest. (Sachs 1992, p. 30)

In this way, the political ideals of technological sustainability push out the ideals of ecological sustainability or the subsistence science of/by peoples. Reflecting on the assumptions and ideals of the advocates of technological sustainability, Orr notes that they assume that (a) economic growth is essential; for (b) humans are best defined by the model of economic man; and, finally (c) humans should control the forces of nature. Tracing the historical roots of the modern conception of technological sustainability, Orr tracks it down to Bacon’s justification for the union of science and power. For “Bacon sought not truth as such, but a particular kind of truth that would lend itself to specific outcomes. His means of ‘vexing’ nature were aimed to ‘squeeze and mould’ her in ways more desirable to her interrogators and molders. Bacon’s legacy is found in the continuing belief that nature can be ‘managed’ by understanding and manipulating natural processes…. This assumes a great deal about human management abilities. For advocates of technological sustainability, ecology provides the scientific underpinnings for a system of planetary management. Technological sustainability is the

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total domination of nature plus population control. It is Gifford Pinchot with high technology” (Orr 1992, p. 25). Ecological sustainability, on the other hand, moves us away from “policy levers” towards non-modern ideals of subsistence, according to Orr. It encourages us to “live much poorer”; waste less; while marginalizing the economy by doing “more for ourselves and each other.” While recognizing that human beings are limited, fallen, fallible creatures, ecological sustainability still gives the burden of the solution of our ecological problems to common people (Esteva and Prakash, 1998) rather than to environmental scientists, eco-developers, or other modern experts. Taking modern Science off its pedestal through recognizing the “conceits of modern science,” ecological sustainability is “rooted as much in past practices, folkways, and traditions as in the creation of new knowledge” (Orr 1992, p. 31). Recognizing the importance of the epistemologies of non-modern or indigenous peoples, it advocates knowledge systems that are “location specific and only arrived at through a unique coevolution between specific social and ecological systems. Traditional knowledge is rooted in a local culture. It is a source of community cohesion, a framework that explains the origins of things (cosmology), and provides the basis for preserving fertility, controlling pests, and conserving biological diversity and genetic variability…. Knowledge is not separated from the multiple tasks of living well in a specific place over a long period of time” (Orr 1992, pp. 31–32). Subsistence science is part of the holistic worldview or cosmology of indigenous societies. Keeping away from the high temperatures necessary for the operation of “thermodynamic efficiency”, it follows nature in supporting “processes or work effected at ambient temperatures” (Alvares 1992, pp. 222–223). The diverse peoples and cultures that practice subsistence science live, learn and work “so as to bring mutual benefits to both society and nature…. The holistic culture…is best expressed in the fact that the soil, water, crops, breeds, climate and landscape are not conceivable as existing in isolation of each other; they are joined by their multiple interrelations resulting from the everyday practice of agriculture” (PRATEC, 1991, p. 96). Distinguishing between the knowledge systems of eco-developers and the subsistence sciences of traditional peoples who have lived sustainably over centuries in their ecological niches, Sachs warns that “the ecocratic perception remains blind to diversity outside the economic society of the West” (Sachs 1992, p. 36). The “quantum leap in

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surveillance and regulations” it demands would inspire Orwell to write another novel, notes Sachs. Alluding to the different subsistence sciences, Sachs reminds us of the Indian villagers’ prakriti. She is “active” and “productive.” Permeating every stone and tree, fruit and animal, “prakriti grants the blessings of nature as a gift; she has consequently to be honored and wooed.” The honor granted to prakriti by the subsistence sciences lies at the heart of their cosmology of sustainability. In contrast, Sachs notes, when nature becomes the object of modern planning and politics of technological sustainability, she is transformed into the modern ecocrats “environment.” And, “[s]ticking the label ‘environment’ on the natural world makes all concrete qualities fade away; even more, it makes nature appear passive and lifeless, merely waiting to be acted upon” (Sachs 1992, p. 34). Ecocrats are currently engaged in acting upon passive nature. The ecocratic discourse unfolding in the 1990s starts with the conceptual marriage of “environment” and “development,” finds its cognitive base in eco-systems theory, and aims at new levels of administrative monitoring and control. Unwilling to reconsider the logic of competitive productivism which is at the root of the planet’s ecological plight, it reduces ecology to a set of managerial strategies aiming at resource efficiency and risk management. It treats as a technical problem what in fact amounts to no less than a civilizational impasse—namely, that the level of productive performance already achieved turns out to be not viable in the North, let alone for the rest of the globe. With the rise of eco-cracy, however, the fundamental debate that is needed on issues of public morality— like how society should live, or what, and how much and in what way it should produce and consume—falls into oblivion. Instead, Western aspirations are implicitly taken for granted, and not only in the West but worldwide, and societies which choose not to put all their energy into production and deliberately accept a lower throughput of commodities become unthinkable (Sachs 1992, pp. 35–36). The Continuing Tale Of Incommensurable Knowledge Systems? After a survey of the literature distinguishing modern scientific knowledge systems from those non-modern systems deemed primitive or nonscientific, several key fundamental distinctions are observed by Arun Agrawal (1995). While rejecting the idea of their incommensurability or fundamental difference, Arun Agrawal identifies three fundamental

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grounds identified by many thinkers for their differentiation of two opposed knowledge systems: substantive, methodological and contextual. According to his survey of the literature, Western or scientific knowledge has been contrasted with indigenous or traditional knowledge on: “substantive grounds—because of differences in the subject matter and characteristics of indigenous and Western knowledge; methodological and epistemological grounds—because the two forms of knowledge employ different methods to investigate reality; contextual grounds— because traditional/indigenous knowledge is more deeply rooted in its environment” (Agrawal 1995, p. 3). While identifying these categories of differentiation, Agrawal essentially concludes that they are neither particularly relevant nor useful. He underscores continuities rather than discontinuities between modern and indigenous systems of knowledge. What he fails to note is the fact that more important than these three grounds for differentiation are the consequences that follow from them: for ecology—human as well as non-human; for the subversion of social freedoms or ecological regeneration through the nexus of power relations. The problems of power, cultural and ecological survival emerge as the most important issues stemming from understanding the central distinctions between these incommensurable systems of knowledge. In the ongoing quest for global power by the “culture” of environmental science, what is at stake are all the cultures that have evolved “peoples’ sciences”. When confronting and acknowledging the reality of this threat, it is reassuring to read accounts of the ways in which indigenous peoples are continuing to regenerate their knowledge systems, following patterns more than 10,000 years old. Rather than be destroyed by their modern invaders, they are learning to accommodate and adjust themselves to these realities in ways that help indigenous systems not only to survive but to regenerate themselves. Using John Mohawk’s conceptualization of de-colonization, Frederique Apffel-Marglin (1995) studies groups like the Peruvian PRATEC to show how they are exercising their cultural freedoms by becoming “non-subjects” in order to act and think in ways far removed from those of the modern, scientific, rational West. Describing this, she notes many key differences between the knowledge systems of the modern academy and those of the indigenous peoples who regenerate themselves in and through taking the stance of being “non-subjects”. Apffel-Marglin brings out the incommensurabilities between modern and other knowledge systems by explaining the cultural and biological

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diversity present in the world of indigenous peoples, like the Andean. Describing this diversity, she traces it to the manner in which the Andean peasants “converse with plants and all the other inhabitants of the world, be they animate or inanimate, with not only an infinite attention to detail but with a receptive, open, and direct or embodied attitude” (Apffel-Marglin 1995, p. 11). Going further in clarifying the Andean peasants’ indigenous mode of conversation with the whole natural world around them, she writes that: this mode of conversing with all the inhabitants of the world-be they rock, tree, animal or human-is one which we should be careful not to assimilate to current prevalent notions. To say that when a peasant tells you that she is conversing with the soil or the wind she is speaking metaphorically is to assume that Andean peasants are the intellectual heirs to the Reformation and the Scientific Revolution. (Apffel-Marglin 1995, p. 11)

Taking the opposite path from Agrawal, Apffel-Marglin clarifies the nature of the incommensurability of the science of the peasant with the science of the academy. She notes that the Reformation and the Scientific Revolution have bequeathed to us a way of apprehending reality which precludes the kinds of conversations the Andean peasants speak of. The former mode of apprehending reality relies on representations in the mind of an observing subject. Nature does not speak directly; it can be interrogated in the laboratory through experiments and it “answers” or “speaks” but these are metaphorical expressions. To “hear nature speak” one has to be a specially trained person and be taught how to construct mechanical devices to properly interrogate nature. As Robert Boyle the first experimentalist and inventor of the air-pump in the 17th century-put it, the experimenters must be “priests of nature” (ApffelMarglin 1995 p. 11).

Reflecting on this analogy, Apffel-Marglin notes that it was a precise one since lengthy intellectual training is required to become a legitimate interrogator of nature as it is to become a priest. She points to the ingenious devices without which certain men (women were kept out of this new priesthood, as they were kept out of the old) are able to interrogate nature and receive its answers. She underscores that the mediation of the experimental device is crucial in such interrogation.

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This is very different, Apffel-Marglin observes from conversation. For such conversation to take place, she points to the signs which comprise nature’s language-called lomasas in Aymara-must not be “representations” or “symbols” as they became after the Reformation…. As Hobbes’ critique of priestcraft put it, to see efficacy in “enchanted” water and oil was to put spirit in matter, a conjurer’s trick…. This is not to say that Andean peasants put spirit into matter—that is a European way of seeing the issue— but rather to say that Andean peasants do not experience themselves as being apart from the rest of the inhabitants of the world. Just as we humans speak, so do the other inhabitants of the world. To hear those others (non-human as well as human) inhabitants speak one must listen very attentively and learn the language, just as when one comes to a new land one has to learn to converse with its inhabitants. No special training is required, just attention and practice. No special training and certification is required, rather it is open to all those willing to listen and hear, men and women. Openness, attentiveness, receptivity and respect are the attitudes that foster conversation. The senses are not apprehended as limiting or distorting. With the beginning of experimental science, the senses were seen as “infirmities”, as obstacles to both more correct and deeper understanding. The senses were to be remedied as well as enhanced by the use of experimental devices and instruments. Such skepticism towards the senses in the pursuit of knowing reality can only arise in a world view that has already deeply sundered humans from the rest of the world. In the Andes rivers, mountains, lakes, rocks, as animals and humans, have eyes and ears; everything or perhaps better, everyone, is sentient. (ApffelMarglin 1995, pp. 11–12)

Going deeper in her explorations of PRATEC’s Andean peasants science, Apffel-Marglin notes that in this system of knowledge, “the actor and the world are not separate entities. The world is not to be known so as to control it and then transform it. The latter kind of acquisition of knowledge has brought about untold changes and revolutions but it has pushed regeneration to the margins” (ApffelMarglin 1995). Elaborating upon indigenous peoples’ ability to engage in dialogues with all other beings of the world, she notes that such “dialogue does not lead one to a knowledge about the other, but rather to empathize and attune oneself with its mode of being, and in company with that other, to generate and regenerate life. It is a dialogue…that leads [not to knowledge but] to wisdom” (ApffelMarglin 1995 p. 13. Emphasis added).

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In the West, the issue of knowledge is crucial. “The work of the historians of science Shapin and Schaffer on Robert Boyle and Thomas Hobbes concerning the birth of the laboratory and of experimental science shows that ‘the problem of knowledge is the problem of order’…. The aftershocks of the Reformation in England and in France in particular created a vacuum of legitimacy. Boyle’s formulation of establishing ‘matters of fact’, that is certain knowledge, by the witnessing of certain mechanical experiments with his air pump by a group of qualified gentlemen who were free to argue and air disagreement within certain bounds [religious and political talk was out], established the manner in which truth was to be attained…. These priests of nature were the only ones entitled to interrogate it. This was a decidedly elitist and androcentric endeavor. Generation, regeneration and nurture was and continues to be the sphere of peasants, many women and marginals. The combined effect of the Reformation and the scientific revolution displaced legitimacy from the Church and Science which only intensified the abyss between the establishment of ‘matters of fact’ and practices of nurture, generation, and regeneration” (ApffelMarglin 1995, p. 13. Emphasis added). More and more disenchanted scientists are now exploring the damage of this science on society as much on prakriti. Among the prominent thinkers doing so is Rustum Roy who (1997) predicts “the end of science,” even as he defrocks its beneficiaries, the professional scientistresearchers: “The Welfare Queens in White Coats.”3 Conclusion: The Dahin/Lassi Paradigm For Studying Peoples’ Science And Initiation Into Subsistence In this concluding section of the chapter, I draw upon my own people’s indigenous cultural practices to reflect upon sustainable ways of living, as well as modes of teaching ecological literacy that are inextricably linked to the cultural ideal of sustainability. From abstract categories and distinctions, I move very deliberately to very concrete “objects” of daily life in order to reflect upon education for sustainability and subsistence. In doing so, I join in the “celebration of awareness” that comes with the social/technological transparency, justice and solidarity which accompanies the creation and use of “tools of conviviality”. The two cultural products I have chosen to focus upon here reveal in their very nature, substance and use what follows from using traditional/ indigenous convivial tools.

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I come from a land and peoples for whom the white, home-churned butter is deemed divine—the food stolen by their beloved god-child, Krishna. However, I will end this essay on the culture/science of the Hindus—my people—not with Krishna’s butter; but with the white dahin (yoghurt/curds) and the lassi (buttermilk) that are closely related to it in subsistent cultures like mine. These two “ethnic foods” offer a beautiful metaphor, a paradigm, for thinking about alternatives to the dominant discourse or modes of education/cultural initiation, for dahin and lassi are paradigmatic of social forms of living which sustain cultural and ecological diversity. They exemplify the economy and ecology of subsistence cultures. My people are indigenous to the Punjab. I am guessing that they have lived in the region of the Punjab for centuries. Political crises of various sorts, like the separation of India from Pakistan (the result of Machiavellian social engineering for which colonialists like the British have earned their well-deserved condemnation), have forced them to move from one region to another of the Punjab—as did my entire extended family in 1945. Others indigenous to the Punjab have fled further away, abandoning their soils and traditions in search of a better life; perhaps even a better climate—one that does not bring searing harsh heat every May, June, and July. The Punjabis, like all other indigenous peoples, have learned to adjust to every aspect of their bioregions: including the blistering hot loo (the summer wind which seems to have caught fire like Moses’ burning bush) that carries unbearable temperatures, soaring into and even beyond the 140s, to all the corners of this province. The dahin and the lassi of the Punjabis are only two among literally countless creations of their ethnic/indigenous peoples’ science designed to help them live in symbiosis with their loo; not fighting it, but perfecting their own cultural arts of suffering “insufferable” heat. Dahin and lassi also symbolize the ideal of sustainability that defines indigenous peoples’ science—the brainchild of that marvelous long-term marriage of peoples and their places exemplified in the evolution of the cultures of all peoples who have learned the art of “dwelling” (Orr 1992; Prakash & Esteva, 1998) in their indigenous spaces. Punjabis, like many other peoples of sweltering India, are “educated” from birth to come to love dahin. It constitutes a part of their daily and year-round staple diet. In millions of “ordinary” homes—of brick, thatch or gobar (the feces of cows and buffalos) and mud—it is made daily without electricity or plastic yoghurt makers. Countless culinary

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delights and delicacies are created out of it during every season of the year. From loved main courses to drinks and desserts—dahin features in them all. But the form in which it is most cherished and unbeatably popular in probably the homes of all the millions who constitute the Punjab is called lassi: the sweet or salty summer yoghurt drink that is traditionally served to cool people down as they enter a home to escape the burning blistering Punjab sun. Punjabis refuse to drink lassi during their winter season (of temperatures that would prevent it from qualifying as “winter” by peoples of more northern climes). It is their best-loved summer drink—a balm for the healthy as well as those suffering the agonies of sunstrokes. I have heard some of my rooted “earthy” relatives call lassi the airconditioner of the Punjab. It has virtually the same effect on the indigenous lassi-guzzling Punjabi that the airconditioner has for her modern counterpart: the sensation/experience of relief or respite from heat that relentlessly oppresses for many weeks and months of every year. And while these rural “earthy” relatives are very right, they are also very wrong. They are right, of course, in celebrating the cooling effects of drinking lassi, analogous to the modern airconditioner. They are wrong because they disregard the fact that the relevant differences between the aliens’ airconditioners and their own cultures’ lassi far outweigh the relevant similarities. From the point of view of ecological literacy and peoples’ science, the relevant differences between the modern airconditioner and the lassi are literally countless. The latter is, and has been for centuries, totally solar-powered. It resists the heat of the burning blistering Punjab sun not by fighting it, but by using it. Or, as the Taoists might put it, by “going with the flow” of the Punjab sun’s heat. Using the natural heat of the Punjab sun, the Punjabi “everyman” can make lassi out of milk in less than three hours. Once transformed into its lassi form, milk can be preserved for the punjabi palate for far longer without the use of any fossil fuels than in its original form. For this reason, as well as others, the Punjabi lassi is paradigmatic of an exceptionally sustainable drink—an exemplar of ingenuous indigenous ingenuity. In the Punjab, it is customarily made from the milk of the Indian buffalo: another indigenous dweller of the Punjabi bioregion. A down-to-earth indigenous “beast of burden”, the Punjabi buffalo does not need to be pandered to or doctored like its modern delicate and sickness prone cousins—the bioengineered hybrid milkmakers concocted in the state-of-the-art bioengineering units of our

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Land Grant universities. The Punjabi buffalo has “a thick skin”— literally and metaphorically—for the climatic extremities for which the Punjab is notorious. Equally down-to-earth is the lassi made from its milk. For the most part, it relies on the natural solar energy of the sun to make it; and not only does it remain “fresh” when the outside temperatures of the Punjab resemble those found within American ovens, it goes even further: it actually refreshes and cools those who suffer the heat. It has the capacity to cool Punjabis as well as other ethnic groups in India without the use of a single ice-cube. (In fact, the traditional/indigenous person of the Punjab has no use for icecubes, a product of modern engineering; more accurately, they find it as distasteful or unnatural as they do the modern airconditioner. Not only do they have no need for these products of modern engineering; they prefer to do without them—finding the latter to be unnatural. Ice cubes hurt the Punjabi mouth, and taste funny for the Punjabi palate. And more often than not, my relatives from the villages of Punjab declare that they find distasteful the unnatural cool of the airconditioner. They have, time and again, expressed their preference for all their cultural ways of keeping cool in the stead of sleeping or sitting in an airconditioned room.) The love of lassi is highly practical or ecological. Here is a case of cuisine that simultaneously satisfies desire and necessity, want and need. And it does so in such an easy, natural, transparent way that even a fouryear-old child can master its culinary science and art. In contrast, when this knowledge system is pulled out of its ethnic context and taken to the “developed” world for the uses of profit and progress, and when yoghurt/ buttermilk begins to be produced by unsustainable mechanization methods (as in the U.S. and Europe), this same food loses many of its qualities, including those of transparency and simplicity for educational purposes. Because of all the complications and convolutions introduced in its outof-context production in the modern world, it requires a vast array of Ph.D.s earning handsome/unsustainable salaries at the yoghurt manufacturing factories, such as those of Danon or Yoplait. Just as an indigenous four-year-old easily masters the culinary science and art of dahin, so does she master its use within indigenous medicinal practices. For dahin is used for a vast variety of human ailments: ranging from minor heatstrokes and gastro-intestinal infections, to stomach ulcers and vaginal disorders, like yeast. It is used both for prevention and cure. Children intolerant of milk, as my father demonstrated from his first day on this planet, grow and prosper on dahin. And, unlike

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modern medicine, this indigenous medicine does not have any sideeffects—on human biology or on bioregional ecology. And Punjabis have known for centuries that human adults are prone to becoming lactose intolerant. Most Punjabi adults do not drink milk. And milk is never drunk with a meal. But lassi is a totally different matter. It is ingested very well by lactose-intolerant adults. And, it protects us from some of the side-effects of stomach acidity, etc., that accompany the spicy Punjabi diet. Both in the making and distribution of dahin/lassi, indigenous ingenuity is at play. Made daily for the consumption of millions in the Punjab, dahin would surely expedite global warming if it was produced for the Indian “consumer” as it is produced for her American or European counterpart—relying upon a very complex and elaborate system of technological and social engineering, highly dependent upon non-renewable fossil fuels. The extensive technological and bureaucratic infrastructure of factories, highways, refrigeration plants or plants needed for manufacturing not only the yoghurt/buttermilk but also the plastic containers and aluminum top foil needed to store and sell it in Western-style supermarkets—this entire paraphernalia needed to produce yoghurt for the Western “consumer market” is completely absent even today in the land where dahin is constitutive of the staple subsistent diet of millions of Indians. In fact, the indigenous dahin is very seldom bought and sold. Like the other products of indigenous knowledge systems or peoples’s science, it is part of the household economy. Because the indigenous way of making yoghurt helps to sustain the village commons and the household economy, while marginalizing the national or international economy. It helps the household economy to flourish; and in doing so, offers alternative modes of raising children; of maintaining neighborliness and other virtues needed for the continuation of the traditional commons. Especially when dahin is made from the milk of the domestic household buffalo, it supports a vast variety of other non-modern, traditional cottage “industries”: the medicinal uses of the water buffalo’s dung to prevent and cure bodily infections; to sterilize wounds; to sterilize the floors and walls of the mudhuts of peasants; to till and fertilize family fields. The list of its virtues is endless; its negative ecological or social side-effects remain undiscovered even after centuries. Included in the list of its beneficence is the educational quality of ease of access and dissemination of the science and art of “engineering” dahin and lassi. The knowledge system, the peoples’ science that helps

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to create dahin and lassi can be passed on from one generation to the next without the need to build/construct a single classroom or laboratory. Any humble home and kitchen simultaneously becomes a science laboratory for disseminating this system of knowledge from one generation to the next—efficiently, sustainably and in a thoroughly decentralized way, without the power and control exercised by professional scientists. Yet the basic knowledge system that helps millions of people make their dahin/lassi in the decentralized way paradigmatic of “science by/of people” remains completely outside the awareness of those raised on “science for the people” within the modern school/academy. With notable exceptions, my graduate or undergraduate students are typical products of this latter knowledge system. More often than not, they lack the knowledge of making yoghurt possessed by an average indigenous child of Punjab. They express surprise and are obviously impressed that a six-year-old child in India knows the indigenous science of making dahin. And, making it sustainably—from the milk bought in reusable containers, filled directly from the udders of local cows. Endnotes 1. Sandra Harding in her essay “Introduction: Eurocentric Scientific Illiteracy—A Challenge for the World Community” notes how the “best” science educations does not “enable anyone to grasp how nature-as-an-object-of-knowledge is always cultural…. These elite science educations rarely expose students to systematic analyses of the consequences of the social origins, traditions, meanings, practices, institutions, technologies, uses, and consequences of the natural sciences that ensure the fully historical character of the results of scientific research. Consequently, most scientists are not in a position to evaluate in a maximally objective way important parts of the evidence that they use in arriving at their results of research; nor is the educated public provided with the information and skills it needs to detect such a problem. Thus public understanding is impoverished by the prevalence of partial and distorted pictures of nature and of the place of Western sciences in maximally objective accounts of world history, for example, the failure of Westerners to link scientific thought about the green revolution, rain forest conservation, or toxic waste disposal to issues of social justice has generated only partial and distorted

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scientific accounts and policies that increase yet further the gap between the haves and the have-nots.” (Harding 1993, p. 1) 2. See all the essays on the neo-colonialism implicit in the project of global development in Wolfgang Sachs, The Development Dictionary: A guide to knowledge as power. 3. See Rustum Roy (1997), The End of Science. Also see his reference to “The Welfare Queens in White Coats” in Sharon Begley, “Gridlock in the Labs: Does the Country Really Need all those Scientists?”, Newsweek, January 14, 1991. References Agrawal, Arun (December 1995). “Indigenous and Scientific Knowledge: Some Critical Comments.” Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor, Vol. 3, Issue 3. Alvares, Claude (1992). “Science.” In The Development Dictionary: A Guide to Knowledge as Power, Wolfgang Sachs (Ed.), London: Zed Books. Alvares, Claude (1994). Science, Development and Violence: The Revolt against Modernity. Bombay: Oxford University Press. Apffel-Marglin, Frederique (Winter 1995). “Regeneration in the Andes (The Andean Peasants’ Traditional Cosmovision As It Is Being Regenerated Today.” Interculture, Vol XXVIII, No. 1, Issue No. 126. Begley, Sharon (1991). “Gridlock in the Labs: Does the Country Really Need All Those Scientists?” Newsweek, January 14, 1991. Bradford, G. (1991). “We All Live In Bhopal.” In J.Zerzan and A. Carnes (Eds.), Questioning Technology: Tool, Toy or Tyrant. Philadelphia, PA: New Society Publications. Brokensha, D., Warren D. and Werner, O. (1980) Indigenous Knowledge Systems and Development. Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, Inc. Burger, Julian (1987). Report From the Frontier—The State of the World’s Indigenous Peoples. New Jersey: Zed Books. Esteva, Gustavo and Prakash, Madhu (1998). Grassroots Postmodernism: Remaking the Soil of Cultures. London: Zed Books. Field, Alison (1984). “The Indigenous Peoples’ Network.” Cultural Survival Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 4.

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Harding, Sandra (1991). Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking from Women’s Lives. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991 Harding, Sandra (Ed.) (1993). The Racial Economy of Science. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press. Illich, Ivan (1981). Hugh of St. Victor or Science by People. Bulletin of Science, Technology and Society, vol. 1. Nandy, Ashis (1983). The Intimate Enemy. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Marglin, F.A. and Marglin, S. (1990) Dominating Knowledge: Development, Culture and Resistance. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Orr, D.W. (1992) Ecological Literacy: Education and the Transition toa Postmodern World. Albany, New York: SUNY Press. Prakash, Madhu & Esteva, Gustavo (1998). Escaping Education: Living as Learning Within Grassroots Cultures. New York: Peter Lang. PRATEC (1991). Agriculture and Peasant Knowledge: Revitalising Andean Technologies in Peru. In Haverkort, B. et al. (Eds.), Joining Farmers’ Experiments: Experiments in Participatory Technology Development. London: Intermediate Technology Group. Rivera, Julio Valladolid (Winter 1995). “Andean Peasant Agriculture: Nurturing a Diversity of Life in the Chacra.” Interculture, Winter 1995, Issue No. 126, No. 1. Roy, Rustum (1997). The End of Science, (to be published) Sachs, Wolfgang (1989). “A Critique of Ecology.” NPQ, Spring. Sachs, Wolfgang (Ed.) (1992). The Development Dictionary—A Guide to Knowledge as Power. London: Zed Books. Sachs, Wolfgang (Ed.) (1993). Global Ecology: A New Arena of Political Conflict. London: Zed Books. Shiva, V. (1992). Reductionist Science as Epistemological Violence. In A.Nandy (Ed.), Science, Hegemony and Violence. Delhi, India: Oxford University Press. Shiva, V. (1993) Monocultures of the Mind: Perspectives on Biodiversity and Biotechnology. London: Zed Books. Warren, M. (1991). Using Indigenous Knowledge in Agricultural Development. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Indigenous Knowledge and Ethnomathematics Approach in the Brazilian Landless People Education Gelsa Knijnik Introduction This chapter is about mathematical indigenous knowledge of Brazilian rural workers of the “Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais SemTerra”, in English, Landless People Movement. It is a national organization of peasants who strive to achieve land reform and social changes in a country with very deep social inequalities. What I wish to stress here is what distinguishes Brazil, is not that it is a poor country, but that it has one of the highest rates of social inequalities in the world. One example of this situation can be seen in the following official data: in 1995 the wealthiest 10% of the Brazilian population had an income 44 times higher than the poorest 10%, whose average monthly income, in that year, was 48 dollars. These deep social inequalities have resulted nowadays in almost a civil war in the Brazilian countryside, with a great number of rural workers dying every year in the confrontation with the government police force serving the interests of large landowners. The response of dominant sectors of Brazilian society to this social crisis has, basically, been violence in the countryside. This was the case of the massacre which occurred in April 1996, in the North of Brazil. It gained attention throughout the world, due to the brutal killing of peasants by the government police force serving the interests of large landowners in the region. This constitutes one of the harshest examples of the violence which has been used to repress the effective democratization of wealth process in Brazil.

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It is not, therefore, surprising that peasant women and men who have been systematically excluded from material and cultural goods, have organized in a social movement, which has about seven hundred thousand people, all spread among 23 of 27 states of Brazil, living in camps and settlements. The families in camps are those which, after an articulation and organization process in their communities, squat on a previously selected unproductive large estate. Land squats are usually violently repressed by the police forces, sometimes resulting in deaths. Squats have constituted one of the strategies used by the Landless People Movement to pressure the State into carrying out Land Reform. The stay in the camps is used to prepare for the next stage of the struggle: settlement. In this new stage, female and male peasants receive the official, definitive possession of the land from the State. It is clear to the Landless People Movement that education is a strategic issue for the land reform, mainly mathematics education. The Brazilian peasants were expropriated from knowledge and in this situation it is impossible to live and produce goods in the rural areas. Landless People Movement is aware that it is absolutely necessary to have scientific and technological knowledge when organizing, administering and planning the production which will lead them to participate in the construction of a society with less injustice. One of the most important sectors of the Landless People Movement—directly linked to the National Committee—is its Education Sector, which is developing work on the following fronts: primary and secondary schools, education of youths and adults (giving priority to literacy and numeracy), infant education (0 to 6 years) and inservice and preservice teacher education, in order to prepare teachers to work on these different fronts. The population involved in this process covers approximately 1800 teachers and forty thousand students, distributed over 950 primary schools and 50 secondary ones. In the Youth and Adult Education Projects there are 600 monitors working with approximately 8000 students from camps and settlements, in 19 states of Brazil. The experiences in Infant Education are still incipient. In regards to Teacher Education, Landless People Movement has two Teacher Courses, one of them on a national level. It also runs a secondary level course for technicians specialized in the Management of Cooperatives. The most recent innovative element of this process was the official acknowledgment, by state education agencies, in November 1996, of the first Itinerant School in Brazil. This school has two main features

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that distinguish it from all other Brazilian pedagogical experiences. The first is school mobility. At each new land squat the school is transferred and school activities continue. Since the families often spend years living in camps the Itinerant School will reduce the growth of illiteracy which is still ongoing in our country. The second feature of the Itinerant School is that it makes the school year and grade system flexible. The acceptance of the proposal of the Itinerant School shows one of the contradictions of Brazilian society. While the Landless People Movement is violently repressed by the State police forces when carrying out a squat movement, the same State considers it legal for a school to accompany the squats wherever they go. It should also be mentioned that the Landless People Movement innovates in terms of constituting a social movement since, at the same time as it organizes to pressure the government for education, in the very process of struggle it is creating concrete pedagogical alternatives for its members. These data indicate that the Landless People Movement considers education one of its priorities, particularly the need for its children, youths and adults to be mathematically educated. Due, among other factors, to the importance the Movement gives to education, its visibility has increased nationally and internationally. The “International King Baudouin Prize for Development” was awarded to the Landless People Movement by the King Baudouin Foundation of Belgium, in March, 1997, is an example of the acknowledgment given to the Movement abroad. For me it is at the same time an honor and a great responsibility to participate as advisor and, on many occasions as a teacher, in the different projects developed by the Landless People Movement. This very challenging work has provided empirical material for my activity as an academic researcher, and has allowed me to advise research work which, while contributing to the scientific world, is socially relevant. This political dimension is highly important in my work, and it is possibly the most important hallmark of my intellectual activity. It makes me feel that I am participating in the struggle to build a better world, not only for the women, men, youths and children who live in the Brazilian rural area, but also for us who live in the cities. Thinking in a more global fashion, the struggle which is taking place in my country also concerns other peoples, since it shows how much we can still hope to build a better world, with more justice for all.

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Indigenous Knowledge: The Practice of “Cubação da Terra” This section shows an example of a classroom situation which occurred during one of the training courses I held for lay teachers of the Landless People Movement. I refer to the practice of “cubação da terra”, in English, the estimation of the area of a piece of land. The episode I am describing was transcribed from a tape. The only change I made from the original transcript was to round out the numerical data for an easier presentation here. The Episode The group of students had requested that we study the practice of “cubação da terra”. As we began studying, two students—Adam and George—offered to teach the group the methods practiced in their communities. Adam was the first one to teach his community’s method; from this moment on it was called Adam’s Method. This is how he began to talk: Well friends, this then is the most usual formula we use when we are farming, out in the field. And let’s suppose that I own the field. I have put out a contract for this plot1 here for the guy to hoe and weed to prepare for planting. I told him I’d pay 20 reais per quarta.2 He did the work, he himself put the rope over3 and found this area here. So he measured this wall here, 80 meters, the other, 120 meters, 60 meters, 100 meters. You see that no wall, no base, no height measures the same. O.K. So I did the following: I added up the bases and divided them by 2. I found 110. So the base is 110 here and 110 there, got it? So here I have the two heights, 80 plus 60. I found 140: divided by 2, 70, eh? So now all one has to do is multiply base by height. O.K. I find this. 7700 square meters is the area that he worked.4

It is useful to point out several aspects of what the student Adam said. The first is his option to use the topic of land measurement in a more complex problem situation. As this input was also observed in pedagogical work on other occasions, it is possible to consider it not as an exception, but to interpret it as reflecting the importance given by the group to learning land measurement based on the concrete, true need to solve daily matters of the productive activity of male and female rural workers. These questions are in fact more complex, involving other calculations, as in the situation proposed. One other aspect to be taken into account is how much what he said reveals about the polysemics of the language of indigenous


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mathematics. The borders of the land are also called walls; the two land borders which “are in a more lying down position” are the bases, and the heights are those which “are in a more standing position.” In terms of academic mathematics, these uses would be considered imprecisions which could indicate the lack of understanding of mathematical concepts. In the specific context Adam was referring to, however, I did not find this aspect troubling. Not only during this specific situation, but also throughout the pedagogical work, I tried not to interrupt what the students were saying to give them conceptual explanations, or talk about the use of expressions from indigenous mathematics which become ambiguous when transported to the context of academic mathematics. I considered that, to begin with, it was more relevant that they understand the whole, in the context where this whole was produced. That is where those methods were meaningful and took on a consistent internal cohesion. A significant number of students referred to the use of Adam’s Method in their communities. Some of them knew him. For instance Edmilson, who at the time was a county teacher. He explained how he had learned: The way Adam does things I learned from a store-owner close to my house, an old guy called Veceslau. My uncle plants soy beans like this. So he used to pay per-hectare, per-quarta. And so he would ask this old man to reckon it out. So I saw how he reckoned it out with a very correct result. And, that was how I learned this step and took it further.

In the same way as Edmilson took further what he learned from “old” Veceslau, the oral report of many of the peasant women and men possibly disseminated Adam’s Method. Through this transmission process it became quite well known in the regions where my students lived. Their testimonies converged toward the results of research studies such as those performed by authors such as Guida Abreu and David Carraher (1989), showing that the use of this method is broadly disseminated in Brazilian rural areas. Isabel Sotto (1994) also refers to using Adam’s Method in peasant communities of different Chilean regions. A historical reference must also be made. In ancient Egypt, the calculation of any quadrilateral areas was performed by procedures identical to those involved in Adam’s Method (Peet, 1970, p. 93; Coolidge, 1963, p. 13). Peet writes that historical evidence has led

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researchers to state that the method we now call “Adam’s Method” was employed in the Ptolemaic, Roman and Coptic periods in Egypt for taxation purposes. The author adds that the landowners probably knew that their calculations provided higher figures than the real ones. As I will mention further on, my students did not realize this. In brief, we can say that Adam’s Method does not constitute a geographically and historically isolated set of procedures: it is still practiced today (at least) in rural Latin-America, and was already known and used in ancient Egypt. The second method for the practice of cubação was presented by another student, George, and would later be called “George’s Method” by the group. Referring to the same problem-situation presented by Adam, George said: Since it is four sides, I add up the four sides. [He asks his colleague John who has a calculator to add the sides up. John adds up 80, 100, 60, 120, and tells the result. He repeats out loud: Its 360. Now you divide it by 4. [John divides it on the machine and gives the answer. He repeats it out loud]. That is 90. Multiply 90 by 90. [John finds the result and says: 8100]. That’s it: 8100.

During the explanation George had been writing the values found by his colleague on the blackboard. The group had remained in silence. Now all of them saw two figures underlined: 7700 and 8100. Everyone started talking at the same time: Maybe Adam reckoned it wrong. No sirree, everything was right. Then George is the one who is wrong! But John did it on the machine. It can’t be. For the same piece of land, how can the cubação give different results? How can mathematics give different results? After all, which of the methods is the correct one?

The pedagogical context was set. Now had come the time for me to intervene in the discussion. The group had to learn that characterizing a quadrilateral piece of land only by its sides was insufficient to determine it unequivocally. And that is what was happening when using indigenous methods. The modeling involved each of the methods had to be discussed. It was a question of examining the “transformation” Adam had made—making a rectangle of an equal perimeter correspond to the quadrilateral with a perimeter k—and that performed by George— identifying this quadrilateral with the k perimeter squared. Further, it


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was necessary to compare both methods, conclude as to why George’s Method produced a larger surface than Adam’s Method, and discuss the advantages and limitations of each one of them. Here we had at least four questions. The first of them concerned the modeling involved in each of the two methods. It had to be stressed that Adam’s Method transformed a quadrilateral into a rectangle, and George’s Method transformed it into a square, to then allow the calculation of the surface. A second question had to be worked on: the “mathematical” comparison of the two methods. I organized a set of activities so that, empirically, the group could become acquainted with the principle underlying the increase produced by George’s Method as compared with Adam’s Method: among all rectangles with a same perimeter, the square is the one with the largest area.5 The debate on this second question went beyond the limits of “land cubação”. One student recalled that “this idea we can use to build our house: if it is square, it becomes bigger inside and one uses the same amount of boards.” Another student, Fátima, completed what he said: “Or the pig-sty.” At the time there was an interesting debate regarding the application of this principle, as to the need of placing a fence or wire screen around a vegetablegarden: this was useful to protect the vegetable-garden as a whole, but not to delimit the beds, which had, of necessity, to be rectangular, to make it easier to plant, to transplant seedlings, etc. The third point presented in this pedagogical context, as I mentioned before, concerned the impossibility of determining a quadrilateral unequivocally, when one only has the measures of its sides. This is a factor which, depending on the real shape of the land, may lead to significant enlargements. The fourth point concerned the need for the group to learn the official land measurement methods, those produced by academe, called by the group the “Book Method”. At that time I chose the one which uses the so-called Heron Formula, since then called by the group “Heron Method”. The indigenous method of “cubação da terra”, as compared numerically with those used by academic mathematics, produces approximate results, an approximation upwards. Regarding Adam’s Method, these upward approximations are smaller, the closer the shape of the land is to a rectangle, and in this case coincide with official results. In the case of George’s Method, these upward approximations are smaller, the closer the shape of the land is to a square, and in this case coincide with official results.

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What I learned from my students is that, depending on the purposes for which measurement is performed, the need for greater or lesser precision should be established and this must determine which is “the” correct method to use. In brief, “cubação” practices had been the object of a double reading. The first of them, from the standpoint of their autonomy and internal coherence. In this sense they were valued as to their connections with the peasant material living conditions. The process of researching and analyzing indigenous land estimation methods had been guided, using as reference the understanding that they were intrinsically amalgamated to the goals, qualities and nature of what is being measured: the land. I avoided focusing on the abstract and universal qualities of land, so as not to displace them from where they were rooted. It is from this perspective that the dimension of the autonomy of the indigenous culture—connected to relativist thought—was stressed in the work I developed. My second reading of indigenous methods to estimate land areas was guided by the perspective of its heteronomy, of the economic and social disadvantages produced, as compared with the official land estimation methods; therefore, what these different knowledges produce and reproduce in terms of power. These two readings can be summarized in what I have called an Ethnomathematics approach. This consists of the investigation of the traditions, practices and mathematical concepts of a subordinated social group and the pedagogical work which was developed in order for the group to be able to interpret and decode its knowledge; to acquire the knowledge produced by academic mathematics; and to establish comparisons between its knowledge and academic knowledge, thus being able to analyze the power relations involved in the use of both these kinds of knowledge. (Knijnik, 1997)

The Ethnomathematics approach argues about the importance of bringing the mathematics practiced by subordinate groups to the school curriculum. But, what I would like to emphasize is that it does not mean “beginning” with the students’ ways of producing mathematics and then, based on this, teaching official mathematics, the academic one. The key word to be problematized here is “to begin”.


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When we say we begin with the culture of the group we are working with, we are considering that their culture is only the point of departure of an rising trajectory, which would take it from this lower point to another which would overtake it, official mathematics. From what I have learned working with landless people, I observe that their mathematics strategies are often other strategies, different from those utilized by academic mathematics, and that, as elements of their culture, they must be visible in the school curriculum, not as a point of departure. Or, in other words, if as a point of departure, also as a point of arrival. That is, learning the official mathematics will allow both dominating this specific form of mathematics—academic mathematics and its didactic transpositions—as well as a more accurate understanding of the group’s own methods of producing mathematical meanings. These ways, often different from the official ones, have an internal logic which, with the help of academic mathematics, can be better understood. It is in this sense that I consider the importance of Ethnomathematics thought, which problematizes scientificity, the apparent neutrality of academic mathematics, and brings to scene “other” mathematics, usually not mentioned at school, as a cultural production of nonhegemonic groups. This is not, however, a mere attitude of “benevolence” toward the excluded. We, educators who, from the ethical standpoint, are co-responsible for the great massacres which have been and are still being committed by mankind, are also participants in small daily massacres such as those practiced in our classrooms, in our everyday school life, when we exterminate the other knowledges which are not those of the dominant culture, when we pretend that those knowledges did not or do not even exist, and with our authorized voice as teachers value only erudite knowledge of Western culture, not because it is in itself superior from the epistemological standpoint, but because it is the one practiced by the groups which are legitimated, in our society, as those which can/should/ are able to produce science. It is in this sense that I consider particularly exemplary the Ethnomathematics perspective, since, in the field of the curriculum, it counteracts the exclusion of the many and the citizenship of the few. Because, in the concreteness of daily school work, it counteracts what sociologist Boaventura dos Santos called epistemicide—the destruction of the knowledge of a given social group—whose most radical form is the genocide, in which not only minds and hearts but also people’s bodies are eliminated.

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Taking into account this argument, following Silva (1996, p. 198), we can ask ourselves: What knowledges are included and what knowledges are excluded from the curriculum? Which social groups are included—and how are they included—and which social groups are excluded? As a result of these divisions, these inclusions and exclusions, what social divisions—of gender, race and class—are produced or reinforced? And, of course, the most important question to be asked: What is our role, as educators in these division processes, and, therefore, in power relations? If we ask ourselves questions about these matters, we will realize that our role in these processes of including or excluding knowledges in the school curriculum is above all and mainly political. These processes defining which groups will be represented and which will not be heard from in schooling, are, at the same time, products of power relations and producers of these relations: a product of power relations because it is the dominant groups that have the cultural capital to define what knowledge is legitimate to become part of the school curriculum. These processes are also producers of power relations, because, for instance, they influence the success or failure at school, they produce very specific subjectivities, positioning people in given places in the social sphere and not in others. These places have not been defined for once and for all. The field of mathematics education is also a place of resistance, of protest, of struggle. Endnotes 1. The expression “plot” was used by the group to name “a piece of land with four borders or walls,” i.e., a land surface with a quadrilateral shape. 2.

“Quarta” is a measure of area used in rural Brazil, and is the equivalent of a fourth of an “alqueire”. Depending on the region of Brazil, these measures vary, however, they maintain their proportionality coefficient. The group was using 24,200 square meters as an alqueire; therefore, the quarta in this case corresponds to 6050 square meters.

3. The expression “putting on a rope” was used by the group in the sense of measuring.


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4. Adam continued the solution of the problem-situation. He had proposed multiplying 7700 by 20 and then dividing the result by 6050. This part of the process was questioned by another student who, initially, argued that the result “had to be wrong,” because he should first have divided 7700 by 6050 (“to know how many quartas there are in 7700”), and only then should the result be multiplied by the amount paid per quarta. The group had an intense discussion about this question. 5. Here geoboard 5×5 and the “extended geoboard” were useful, and constituted fruitful points of support in solving the problem of determining, among all rectangles with a same perimeter, the one which has the largest area. This supports the comparative enlargement made by George’s Method over Adam’s Method. References Abreu, Guida Maria de Carraher, David William (1989). The mathematics of Brazilian sugar cane farmers. In Mathematics, education and society. Paris: UNESCO, 60–70. (Document Series 35). Coolidge, J.L. (1963). A history of geometrical methods. Oxford: Clarendon. Knijnik, Gelsa. (1997). Culture, mathematics and the landless of Southern Brazil. In Arhtur Powell & Marilyn Frankienstein, (Eds.), Ethnomathematics: challenging Eurocentrism in Mathematics Education. New York: SUNY Press. Peet, T.Eric (1970). The Rhind mathematical papyrus: Introduction, transcription, translation and commentary. London: Hodder &Stoughton. (British Museum 10057 and 10058). Silva, Tomaz Tadeu da. (1996). Identidades Terminais: as transformações na política da pedagogia e na pedagogia da política. Petrópolis: Vozes. Sotto, Isabel. (1994). Paper presented at II Congresso Iberoamericano de Educação Matemática. Blumenau, Brazil.

CHAPTER NINE

Indigenous Music Education in Africa Clemente K.Abrokwaa Introduction The purpose of this chapter is to discuss music education in traditional, or indigenous, African societies. It presents an overview of indigenous African music and examines its music education and instructional techniques. The chapter is particularly intended to inform the Western music educator about African culture, including its indigenous musical traditions. The conclusions of this chapter present some useful suggestions regarding the introduction and teaching of indigenous music in Western educational institutions. Just as there are many different cultures present in Africa, there are numerous types of music within its boundaries. African music varies from region to region and from ethnic group to ethnic group. Through the centuries, however, inter-ethnic wars and marriages have led to the borrowing and adaptation of other tribal musical traditions. As a result, some types of music and instruments bear the same names in different regions. In other instances, some types have different names but employ similar patterns (Nketia, 1986). In this chapter the term indigenous African music refers to precolonial music, instruments, dance forms, and song texts, and must be conceived within the framework of cultural differences on the continent. Therefore, it is important that one understands the nature of African societies and how they function in order to begin to comprehend African music and its music education techniques. The Nature of Indigenous African Societies African societies are broadly composed of ethnic groups. These groups are divided into tribal units and further into intra-tribal divisions. Of these subdivisions the tribal affiliations are stronger than ethnic associations. To illustrate, the Akan ethnic group of Ghana is composed

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of the Ashanti, Fanti, and Akwapim tribal groups. Although these groups belong to the same ethnic family and share a common language, called Twi, each group claims to be superior to the others, creating a competitive atmosphere with each tribe struggling to be the dominant group among the three. This then is the primary motivation for tribal group members to remain tightly knit and loyal to their particular tribal unit—to honor, preserve, and perpetuate the name, values, and cultural practices of the tribe for posterity. Loss of these conceptions and attitudes would mean the loss of tribal group and personal identity and dignity within the larger society. Ethnic and/or tribal musical traditions, consequently, are religiously taught to insure they will not become extinct. This responsibility is entrusted to the family, which forms the backbone of African societies and has the task of imparting ethnic knowledge and skills to its young. Cultural diversity also exists within the area of language. Over 800 distinct languages are spoken by African societies. From these languages stem countless tribal dialects. For instance, the Akan ethnic groups share the Twi language, yet one can easily identify AshantiTwi, Fanti-Twi, and Akwapim-Twi as being three separate dialects evolving from the mother tribal tongue. This linguistic diversity also is found in music, for the music of Africa is ethnically based. Each ethnic society practices its own version of traditional African music, hence one can readily distinguish the Akan, the Yoruba, or the Baganda versions of indigenous African music (Nketia, 1986). Much of Africa’s cultural diversity is due to environmental differences between various areas of the continent. The cultures of the savanna and grassland peoples are different from those of the forest belt, and likewise the cultures of the coastal communities are unlike those of the highland, since each group employs the available environmental resources to develop its sacred and secular belief systems, values, and forms of musical tradition. In Ghana the forest people, the Ashantis, worship certain trees in their religious practices because they are plentiful there. Their raw materials supply them with food, clothing, medicine, shelter, and substances for musical instruments. Hence, the trees are revered. Out of gratitude rites of worship formed and evolved. The coastal people, the Fantis, worship the ocean and certain fishes because their livelihood depends on the sea. Environmental factors, therefore, greatly influence the development and use of musical instruments, dance forms, and song texts.

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However, territorial expansion, tribal and ethnic wars, and famine have brought about mixed populations and cultural interaction due to inter-marriages, with the ensuing borrowing and adaptation of cultural items, including music. In addition, colonialism transformed the cultural traditions of indigenous African societies including music and dance, just as it had their socio-economic and political structures. The Colonial Legacy The basic purity of indigenous African music lasted until the arrival of the Europeans in the 15th century. Their influence reached its climax in the early 20th century, by which time colonial rule was firmly established in Africa. While the slave trade removed millions of Africans from their cultural milieu and transplanted them in new environments with new values and cultural traditions, including the practice of new types of music and language, European colonialism, beginning in the 19th century, ushered in a period of acculturation in Africa through economics, religion, and politics. It introduced Western manufactured goods, such as shoes, clothing, household utilities, and foods, as well as new kinds of music, musical instruments, musical styles, and song texts. New musical instruments included the guitar, violin, woodwinds, the piano and organ, the accordion, and drum sets, some of which were later adopted into the traditional African musical art forms to create new forms of African music. One such music in Ghana was the “highlife,” commonly associated with the “affluent” lifestyles of educated Ghanaians at that time. New forms of music also meant new musical values, appreciation, taste, and social functions in the African society. For example, regimental parades by the military and the police, Empire Day songs, marches in the schools, and ballroom dancing became a part of the colonial African society and its culture. In other words, indigenous African music began to lose its appeal and significance among the colonized Africans. This loss was a result of the influence of the colonial missionaries, who preached vigorously against indigenous African religions and music, particularly drumming, which they associated with pagan worship. Instead, they aggressively promoted European musical art forms among the Africans. One of the reasons for the hostile attitude toward traditional African music by the colonialists stemmed from the fact that such music did not fit the form of Christian worship to which the Europeans were accustomed. Thus for the most part, African converts were not only isolated from the main communities in which

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they lived, but also banned from performing their indigenous music and dance, or even watching it being performed by the non-Christians. The use of Western musical styles and texts expanded into the church, communities, schools, and government-sponsored functions. The church introduced hymns, anthems, and classical orchestral music for the newly formed church choirs and other religious singing groups. Schools became the most influenced since the curriculum included the study of Western music, as indicated by the following advertisement which appeared in the Teachers Journal of Ghana in 1933: The Associated Board of the Royal School of Music has just opened its examination to West Africa. These examinations provide a regular, carefully graded course to the highest level and should be a means of improving the musicianship of the teachers and pupils of west Africa,

(cited in Nketia, 1986) Colonialism, therefore, turned attention away from indigenous music, its values, and the teachings they imparted. The practice and preservation of indigenous music soon became identified with those community elders, medicine men and women, and individuals who refused to yield to the persuasions of the Christian missionaries. Indigenous Music As in every other culture, African music developed out of group or ethnic behavior patterns or the general “temper” of the group as a social unit. This temper included group sentiments, values, interests, beliefs, movement (or the general dynamics), and common desires and goals. These group characteristics, to a large extent, were influenced or determined by several factors, including the environment, war, birth and death, religion and worship, disease and cures, and language. The musical tradition that developed therefrom thus became an integral part and signature of the group lifestyle. Such music was therefore preserved and perpetuated by teaching it to the younger generation. It continued the identity, knowledge and skills, cultural heritage, and thus existence of the respective ethnic groups—not only in this world but also in the spirit world of their ancestors and so became an important concern to its members. Music education was one of the numerous avenues employed by ethnic groups to impart history and cultural traditions. Traditionally, music making is an institutional part of a community’s life. The physical setting for performances can be any area suitable


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for collective activity. A public place, under a tree, a regular place of worship (a sacred spot, a shrine), the courtyard, a market place, the corner of a street, or a dance plaza could be transformed into the musical venue for the day (Nketia, 1986). Permanent structures designed specifically for the performance of indigenous music are non-existent in African communities. Everything takes place in the open air, symbolizing the free, spiritedness of the African; his/her identification with nature, the universe, and his/her environment, plus the strong desire to express his/her feelings and emotions without any restrictions. This attitude and behavior can also be observed even among Black Americans, particularly in Black churches, though they are far removed from their original African roots. Another important characteristic of the performance arena is the informal atmosphere. The audience stands close to the performers and are free to move about or leave at any time they wish. This informal atmosphere is desired because African music requires spontaneous participation from everyone present, and implies that the audience is never separate from performers except when the nature of the performance requires it. As noted by Nketia (1986) the qualities/attributes usually expected of the musician are the ability to make music, knowledge of the repertoire, and skill at improvisation, a most important requirement since African music generally demands improvisation both in drumming and in singing. A performer having all these qualities becomes a highly respected member of the community. The ability to make music includes the necessity for the drummer to have supple wrists and the skill to produce the right kinds of tones and dynamics on his drum. The singer must have a sweet voice, a good memory, a good ear, and the ability to concentrate. If a singer uses the wrong intonation, sings wrong notes, or sings out of tune, he is said to spoil the song. Performers should not have “sweet ears,” or lack of concentration, as this could prevent them from keeping strict time, making their entries, or staying in tune. When this happens he or she is said to have come from behind or is out of step. The dancer must be well versed in the prescribed movements of the dance, be graceful, have the ability to manipulate the body to convey messages, display intricate and complex footwork, and use appropriate facial expressions to earn the full approval of the audience (Nketia, 1968). The indigenous musician must be disciplined and have complete control over his/her instrument.

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Instrumental Resources The instrumental resources at the disposal of performers naturally tend to be limited to those in which their respective communities specialize. However, there are very striking similarities in the basic features of instruments. It must be noted that the assortment of musical instruments used by individual societies is limited to a small selection from the four main instrumental classes, due primarily to environmental factors. The four main classes, as identified by Nketia (1986), are idiophones, membranophones, chordophones, and aerophones. Idiophones Idiophones are self-sounding instruments upon which a sound may be produced without the addition of a stretched membrane or a vibrating string or reed. They are the most common musical instruments found in Africa, since these are the most easily improvised sound-producing objects. These are employed in various areas of community life, including assembling people, scaring away birds, and accompanying religious ceremonies, as well as keeping the time-line in musical performances. This category of musical instruments includes the following types: SHAKEN IDIOPHONES rattles (shakeree) and jingling bells. The latter are worn around the ankles, wrists, waist, neck, or head to produce rhythmic sounds for the music. In some cases these bells are tied to drums to give added resonance to the drum rhythm. STRUCK IDIOPHONES include two round sticks of the same size which are struck together or two flat sticks struck together as clappers, iron or wooden bells with clappers, clapperless iron bells struck with rods or sticks, iron castanets (mostly found in West Africa), and upturned calabashes or gourds struck with sticks. STAMPED IDIOPHONES long gourds stamped on the ground to produce deep resonating sounds. TUNED IDIOPHONES melody instruments including the sanza, or mbira (hand piano), and the xylophone. Mbiras are found in Tanzania, Kenya and Zimbabwe. It is a very difficult instrument to play.


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XYLOPHONES these are widely distributed throughout sub-Saharan Africa. They are played as an ensemble accompanied by rattles, drums, bells, and castanets. They are also played for personal enjoyment or for funeral announcement. In this the melody would indicate whether a man, woman, old person, or child has died. Membranophones These are drums. They appear in a wide variety of shapes—conical, cylindrical, semi-cylindrical with a bulge in the middle, or in the shape of an hourglass. All these are made in different sizes. Some drums are double, headed (closed at both ends), some single headed (i.e. one end open). Each society specializes in a small number of drum types. The different sizes plus the layout of skin give different tones. Some drums are played with sticks, others by hand, some by stick and hand combined. The use of cupped hands, the palm, palm and fingers, or the base of the palm in different positions on the drum affect tone quality and pitch. Geographical and environmental factors play a great part in drum use or make. Drums may be played as an ensemble, singly, or in pairs. In addition to their musical uses, drums may serve as speech at various functions or as signals. The “Atumpan” or talking drums of the Ashantis are a good example of this type. AEROPHONES This group comprises woodwind instruments and are more limited in use in African music making. They include wooden flutes, trumpets, reed pipes, and horns. The horns and trumpets may be wood, gourd, bamboo, or ivory. Aerophones are mainly used to sing dirges to create an atmosphere of sadness and grief, but can be used at times in a variety of drum ensembles. CHORDOPHONES String instruments form this class and include zithers, musical bow, lutes, fiddle, and harps. They are particularly suitable for use as solo instruments and may accompany solo singing, poetry recitals, praise singing, and narrative songs. They may also be combined with other instruments including the xylophone and rattles. Wandering musicians or griots often perform on chordophones. Music education in African societies therefore includes the teaching and learning of these instruments, particularly those used by the child’s community in music making.

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Indigenous Music Education The general aim of indigenous music education is to impart sociocultural knowledge and skills to the young of the community. However, this education is not organized or structured on a formal basis, for it is believed that natural endowment and a person’s ability to develop on his/her own are essentially what is needed. Exposure to musical situations and participation are more important to the process than formal teaching. The way traditional music is organized in social life enables the individual to acquire his or her musical knowledge in slow stages. One widens his/her experience of the music of his/her culture through the social groups into which he is gradually absorbed and through the activities in which he takes part (Nketia, 1965). Music education in African societies share some common styles and features, particularly in the nature of the curriculum, which has its base in history rather than from experimentation. It has stood the test of time and change, offering the same cultural information and skills. The music education curriculum of Western colleges and schools, on the other hand, undergo changes based on learning and developmental behaviors and theories. To the Western educator this approach may appear stale, lacking innovation and motivation, and limited in scope and content. But to the indigenous music teacher and student the knowledge and skills acquired through this education identifies the individual with his/her group for socialization purposes. The content is designed to prepare the young to fit into their respective roles in their society and to assist in its transformation. Indigenous music education also teaches the aesthetic and technical skills of music making. Aesthetically it requires total involvement in the music from the player/performer. The musician must not separate himself/herself, mentally or physically, from the music he/she makes. He/she must be one with it to express music as a spiritual manifestation. The music must emanate from within his/her soul and be expressed outwardly through the drum, instrument, voice, or dance. This approach encourages the use of drama, acting, and rhythmic body movement to accompany all musical expression. The drummer, singer, or dancer is expected to inspire and win the approval of his/her audience through facial and body movements, which are the result of his connection with the deeper, spiritual source of the music. The technical or practical aspect of the curriculum involves the learning and development of correct posture, playing/singing techniques, and tone production to help with concentration, grip, and flexibility.


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It is important for the drummer to assume correct stances and posture at all times during practice and public performances. Not only does this help to identify the significance of the drummer in the music making but also helps to eliminate tension in the body and rigidity in the arms. Correct stance also helps the performer to achieve the required concentration throughout the entire performance, as well as produce the right tones on the drum to create the required mood and inspiration for the audience. Concentration is very important in African music because of the many complex and contrasting rhythms being performed at the same time. Each player must concentrate constantly in order to make his/ her entry at the correct time and to maintain his/her rhythm. This area of the curriculum also focuses on hand coordination—one of the fundamental requirements of general musicianship. Since indigenous music is primarily rhythm it is important that children are introduced to the numerous rhythmic patterns of their musical culture. Parents expose their children to rhythm and movement at a very early age. They take them to musical performances in the village or town square and by tapping drum rhythms on their bodies while singing them cradle songs to get them to sleep or stop crying. In some cases nonsense syllables are used to introduce rhythms to children. The most important aspect of the curriculum is improvisation since it forms the heart of indigenous African music. It permits the player/ singer to express with unbounded freedom and to explore his/her inner musical sounds and abilities. Such compositional techniques are incorporated into all musical activities, using stories, speech, and intonation. Both drummers and singers are often asked to compose special music for certain individuals or groups while the musical performance is going on. The lead drummer or singer must therefore be quick minded and know the language and its intonation very well because, unlike in Western music, an indigenous melody must follow speech and the intonation contour to achieve the desired musical expression. More importantly, the traditional musician must possess the skill and wit to compose music about anything whenever asked to do so and without any hesitation. He/she must know the common musical texts used during performances, be acquainted with their structure and style, and know the melodies that have been formed out of them.

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Musical Texts Indigenous music education includes not only aesthetic and practical/ technical developmental skills, but also texts for both drum and voice. These texts usually reflect personal and social experiences, hence the themes tend to center around events and matters of common interest and concern to the members of a community or the social groups within it (Nketia, 1986). They may deal with everyday life or with the traditions, beliefs, customs, and environmental conditions of that particular society. Certain drums are set aside to “speak” texts and are therefore known as “talking drums.” These drums are used to sing the praises of kings, chiefs, and heroic deeds, and to recite the history of the tribal group. Common types of songs include cradle, love, historical, general, work, religious, and environmental songs. Some song texts are used to tease, quarrel, or serve as a warning to others by the singer. For example, cradle songs are generally sung to lure babies to stop crying or go to sleep, yet the same text could be used to either chastise a husband or ridicule a rival wife in a polygamous marriage. The following cradle song text exemplifies this point: Someone would like to have you for her child, But you are my own. Someone wished she had you to nurse you on a good mat, Someone wished you were hers: She would put you on camel blanket. But I have you to rear you on a torn mat. Someone wished she had you, But I have you. (Nketia, 1986). The above text, while it appears to address a child, also indirectly mocks an infertile rival wife who has everything she needs except the ability to conceive a child, a significant requirement or expectation of all marriages in African societies. This stems from the fact that African societies depend to a large extent on the family; hence, the more children a family has the stronger it is considered, and the greater the likelihood of the survival of its people and the community as a whole. Similarly, an irresponsible husband who is always out drinking with his male friends is indirectly chastised by the wife using cradle songs, as seen in the following cradle song text:


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Stop crying my child I am the only one here to help you We are two but I am always one with two hands and two feet The other hands and feet are always drinking because they don’t care Stop crying my child. Again, this text calls on the husband to become responsible in helping to take care of the child and lending a hand around the house. This song would be sung by the wife just after the husband has returned home from his drinking party to eat his dinner. Like cradle songs, reflective songs may be addressed to individuals whether commoners, kings, dead, or alive, or whether supernatural beings and forces. They may relate to the past or present. Those that relate to the present may be topical, and may focus on incidents or on individuals who deserve to be praised, criticized, or ridiculed. Such songs are commonly used by women in polygamous marriages to provoke quarrels and marital conflicts for a rival wife. The following song text gives an example of this: It is a hen saying this If it had been a cock, I would have replied It is a hen saying this. (Nketia, 1986). “Hen” in the above text means coward, while the “cock” signifies courage or bravery. The singer ridicules her rival’s inability or cowardice, due to fear, to face her with her accusations or insults, and because of that she (the singer) will not waste her time on such cowards. Thus knowing song texts and their import is one of the skills of the singer. It helps them to convey meanings, emotions, and feelings to the audience through their voice. The texts also teach community members to learn responsibility, particularly in regard to the preservation and protection of the environment. Environmental Songs The need for environmental protection forms one of the major concerns of African cultural traditions, and is emphasized through the application of music. African traditional belief systems recognize that life on earth, particularly human life, is dependent on the resources provided by the environment. Like the ideal mother who provides for her children’s

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needs at all times, the Earth is constantly referred to as Mother Earth in all traditional African cultures. The spirit and presence of this Great Mother is, therefore, the first to be invoked at all social, religious, and ceremonial gatherings. Specific songs are set aside to honor the Earth and the environment for providing the daily needs of human beings. They also serve as an educational resource for the youth in regard to environmental protection and preservation to ensure the perpetuation of life on earth. The following Ashanti song texts depict the importance accorded to the earth and the environment: Mother Earth, you who were born on Thursday Accept a drink! The Good Mother whose children never go hungry Accept a drink! The big and small rivers and your children Accept a drink! The fertile forest and your children Accept a drink! The brave wind who carries our lives in your hands Accept a drink! The tireless sun who rekindles our strength in the morning Accept a drink and allow us to live longer! In the above text homage is paid to the earth, the sustainer of life, and also to the rivers and their children (fishes), the forests and their children (wild game), the air we breathe to live, the sun that warms us and gives us the energy to do our work, and to the general environment in which we live. These praises are designed to inculcate respect and responsibility among the people. In a similar fashion, the importance of the earth to both human and community life is brought to the attention of the people in the following song text stressing the dependence of all life, particularly human life, on the fertility of the earth. It warns that if the earth is abused (angered) it would mean death for every family. Without the Earth, would we have our King? No! Without the Earth, would we have our wives? No! Without the Earth, would we have our husbands? No! Without the Earth, would we have our children? No! Without the earth, would we have our families? No!


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Without the Earth, would we have our lives? No! Without the Earth, would we have our farms? No! Without the Earth we are nothing—She alone has the power! Do not make her angry, her anger will reach every home! The final example of the environmental song speaks of the destiny of both the responsible and the irresponsible individuals or groups with regard to protecting the Earth/environment from human abuse. The “wise one”, or responsible persons, protects his/her environment because they understand their life’s absolute dependence on its continued fertility. Therefore, they live longer (plays with his great-greatgrandchildren). The Fool, irresponsible ones, destroys his environment and so dies young (goes to sleep early) because the environment was unable to provide life sustaining foods, water, and air. The wise one sees himself in the Earth The wise one sees himself in the Sky above The Wise one sees himself in the Air The Wise one sees himself in the River The Wise one sees himself in the Plant The Wise one sees himself in the Animal He plays with his great—great-grandchildren. The Fool sees himself in nothing, except himself He goes to sleep early! The environmental texts are designed to teach the younger generation about the importance of protecting their milieu to ensure the continuity of life for their community and themselves. Religious Song Texts Religion is a dominant cultural feature among African societies, like the Akan of Ghana. As observed by Parrinder (1970) the majority of Africans, even the most educated behind their veneer of “new” beliefs, e.g., Christianity, continue to adhere to the ancient, traditional religion of their forefathers. The fear of death, the unknown, the apparent power of the sorcerer, and the dire consequences of the “evil eye” form the cornerstone of African religious beliefs and practices. This is depicted in the majority of religious song texts among the Akan and across Africa. The songs, however, also serve to rally the faith of the believers in the power of their spirit god to deliver them from such unfortunate or wanton mishaps.

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The following is an “Adae” song of the Ashanti, a type of religious ceremonial song: The mouth of the lion is wide open It seeks its prey in the night Tano also crosses its path Kofi Boadi, my morning is still here. This text means that death (the lion) lurks in every corner of human life, acting through its mediums, such as witchcraft and sorcery, to pounce on its prey during sleep in the night. However, Tano, the river god/spirit worshipped and believed in, is never asleep and therefore saves Kofi Boadi, a faithful worshipper, from untimely death (morning of his life). In general the musical texts focus on the individual’s responsibility to community and family since the individual is expected to seek the good of the community over personal desires. This is based on the traditional philosophical belief that without the whole (community) the parts (individuals) would not survive, hence the interest of the whole must always come first in all endeavors. The musical texts thus help to pass on ethnic history, knowledge and skills, language, folklore, and culture to future generations. However, the instructional methods employed differ from the formal styles and approaches employed by Western music educators. Instructional Methods Because music is an integral part of daily community and individual life, music education among indigenous African societies is provided in informal settings. Children learn musical skills at any given time of the day anywhere in the community. The main instructional methods employed are oral tradition, demonstration, imitation, and memorization. African children must rely on their innate ability to use their eyes, ears, memory, and intuitive skills to learn and produce music. That is, they must be able to watch, listen, picture, memorize, and use their inner creative skills to reproduce the music that goes on around them in their community. All African cultures have relied on oral tradition teaching methods since time immemorial. Pre-colonial African societies preserved their history, cultural traditions, values, and climatic and environmental knowledge through oral tradition. The elders of the various communities


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are able to recall past events and history with astonishing accuracy. This oral system of learning and record keeping was, and is, passed on to the younger generation. Consequently, Africans tend to rely on their memory, and are able to listen and then store detailed and complex information for very long periods of time. Even today the majority of the African population, including well educated individuals, continue to use oral tradition in their efforts to preserve ethnic information, and to employ memory in business agreements rather than use written records. In like manner, the teaching and preservation of African music largely employs the mouth to ear technique. Instrumental and vocal music plus dance forms are primarily preserved in the memories of the people rather than in books. So traditional musicians have the ability to remember extended, highly complex and long rhythms and song texts, which they pass on to their children. And the graduated musician can recount the community or group’s entire history thoroughly, including the royal lineage for chanting purposes during festivals and other community celebrations. Children, therefore, learn through oral training, but are also encouraged to develop their own techniques of learning music. They listen to the adults performing, and imitate and create music during their play. By this they become more independent, and creativity increases within the child, giving him the freedom to explore, create, and add to existing traditional musical styles and repertoire. This evolvement can be illustrated in the “Adowa” (antelope) dance of the Ashantis. When it is performed the lead drummer is called upon to improvise counter-rhythms at a certain point to enrich the music. Through his/her developed memory of long texts and complex rhythms and heightened creativity he/she can deliver an innovative and impressive performance. This is the sign of a skilled musician. Children are thus encouraged to depend on their memory and imitative capabilities in learning African music and to create from within himself/herself. Nonsense syllables are also employed to identify, recollect, and reproduce rhythms and dance movements. Parents use nonsense syllables in cradle songs to calm babies, or lull them to sleep. Sometimes the syllable rhythms are tapped on the bodies of the babies which causes them to identify those rhythm patterns with sleep or being quiet. But the most important effect is that it exposes children to indigenous musical rhythms at a very young age, most of them being actual dance or drum rhythms of that particular ethnic group. Children think the nonsense syllables are fun, so they are helpful in developing

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the retentive memory in the children to prepare them to acquire the skills to memorize long and complex texts and rhythms. In the “shakeree” rhythm of an Ewe ethnic dance of Ghana such syllables are used: pa—te—pa—pa—te—pa—te—pa—te—pa—pa

The above syllables have no meaning per se, but they help one to remember the musical rhythm of the shakeree in the Ewe dance. Nonsense syllables also help children to learn hand coordination and to produce the rhythm and different tones required by the melodic pattern. Structured or formal music education is only provided where particular families have been assigned the traditional duty of providing court or religious music for all community gatherings. The community thereby shows its approval and respect for the musical skills of that particular family. It then becomes the family’s duty to have the children of their household acquire formal training in drumming, singing, or dancing, either from master musicians outside the family or from the experts in the family itself. In this way the continuity of the family’s service to the community is ensured as is the honor bestowed on them by the royalty and the community. Children, then, are trained in music through social experience as opposed to institutionalized settings in Western societies. They learn through exposure, observation, imitation, and in ensembles organized by themselves during playtimes. When a child is found to display exceptional musical skills he/she is often allowed to perform with adults during public performances to enhance and accelerate his/her musical development. A talented child musician is greatly admired and encouraged by the audience. The system of musical instruction and learning thus becomes a part of the individual throughout his/her entire life as an indigenous musician. Conclusion European colonization of Africa introduced western musical traditions and music education to Africans; however, Western peoples know very little about African societies and their musical traditions and education. But with global migration and emigration multicultural societies have been created in Western countries. Chinatowns, Black and Latino neighborhoods, and Russian and Mexican communities


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can be found across these countries. These communities practice their cultural heritages within the larger Anglo-American community and culture. Though the idea of multicultural music education has found its way into many arenas, the continued influx of immigrants should present a further challenge to Western music educators and musicians alike to develop an even greater interest in learning, understanding, and teaching the music of other cultures in the schools. There are so many different forms of music, dance, rhythm, text, and melodic patterns yet to be discovered, which would enrich their and their students’ lives as well as their musical repertoire. Too, it would help broaden their knowledge of the world around them and develop more tolerance for other people and their way of life. In the current spirit of multiculturalism being promoted in Western societies, Western music educators should consider employing the services of both foreign students in their schools and immigrants within their communities. These people could give talks and demonstrations in the schools on the indigenous music of their respective countries. Music educators also should form and support indigenous dance/music groups. The “Nommo” dance group at the Pennsylvania State University is a good example of such efforts at introducing other musical styles in the schools of the United States. Ethnic musical weeks and music displays could help generate wider interest and audiences for such music, and community cultural celebrations involve more of the local citizenry. Finally, the Western music education curriculum should be designed to incorporate the music history, practice, repertoire, and music education styles of other cultures. References Nketia, J.H.K. (1965). Ghana: Music, dance, and drama. Accra: University of Ghana. Nketia, J.H.K. (1968). Our drums and drummers. Accra: Ghana Publishing House. Nketia, J.H.K. (1986). The Music of Africa. London: Victor Gollantcz. Parrinder, G. (1970). African traditional religion. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.

CHAPTER TEN

The Inseparable Link Between Intellectual and Spiritual Formation in Indigenous Knowledge and Education: A Case Study in Tanzania R.Sambuli Mosha Introduction The aim of this chapter is two-fold: first, to contribute positively to the ongoing study and appreciation of Indigenous Knowledge (IK) in education settings; and second, to demonstrate that findings and insights emerging from this study are indeed relevant to contemporary educational programs, beginning from kindergarten and going to college and beyond. The author intends to accomplish this aim by systematically studying and reflecting on a recurring observation that, in the indigenous African context, and indeed among indigenous peoples everywhere, there is an inseparable link between intellectual formation and moral (spiritual) formation in their IK and educational systems. This chapter, therefore, specifically examines the IK and educational systems of the Chagga people of Tanzania in East Africa, a context in which this author was born and raised. Whenever relevant, references will be made to examples from, and experiences of, other African indigenous peoples. This author approaches the subject of IK from the perspective of the collective wisdom of World Religions and Spirituality, an area of specialization in which he has engaged in study, research, and teaching for many years. It is the observation of this author that as one continually studies indigenous religions and spiritualities, one is compelled to notice that indigenous peoples experience life holistically. Everything that is thought, said, and done is done in relationship to the whole of life experience. Everything that is known is known in the context of the entirety of life and for the purpose of

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furthering intellectual, moral, and physical growth. So, in order to appreciate and study IK profitably, one has to try to do so from this holistic perspective of indigenous peoples. For them life is one, and knowledge is an intimate part of it. Knowing, living, and acting ethically and morally are essential elements of life. Compelling observations such as these invite this author to attempt to show how African IK and African Indigenous Religions and Spirituality are essentially linked. The following are among the most significant sources of material for this chapter: lived native experience by the author in Tanzania and elsewhere in Africa; literature by early European missionaries and authors; religious, theological, philosophical, and anthropological literature by African and non-African authors; formal and informal interviews with older generation Africans; studies in other indigenous religions and spiritualities such as Native American Spirituality; and ongoing study and reflection on all the above, always from a holistic perspective. The chapter consists of three main sections. Section One will briefly examine the Chagga (and African) worldview of a person and of the world. This worldview is the foundation on which the link between IK and the whole of life experience is based. In Section Two, we shall examine the Chagga concept of forming or educating children and youth. Here we shall try to answer questions such as: What is Chagga indigenous education? What is Indigenous Knowledge? What are the constitutive elements of the tradition that is handed on as knowledge from one generation to the next? These and similar questions will be discussed in Section Two. Using the findings and insights emerging from Sections One and Two, the author will, in the final section, propose some general guidelines which he considers fundamental in re-designing contemporary educational programs, which will prove to be more formative and holistic in content and pedagogical methods. Chagga Basic Worldview on Personhood and the Universe Many years of study and research on Chagga indigenous culture and religion have shown to this author that the worldview of the Chagga people, and of African indigenous peoples in general, has four codependent facets that inspire and direct all their thoughts, words, actions, and omissions. This worldview is their window to the world within and without. The following is a brief but succinct description of each

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facet of their worldview and a commentary on how each impinges upon IK. The first facet states that the Chagga people believe and trust in the existence of an Eternal Divine Mystery.1 These people, who have inhabited the windward slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro for centuries, have always believed that there is an eternal, transcendent, Divine Mystery that brings everything into being and sustains all that is. For the Chagga people, a mystery means that which is so rich in meaning that it cannot be fully understood. This Mystery, the Ultimate Incomprehensible One, is the Divine Parent who gives birth to life and world. It makes all beings grow and change, by continually providing elemental structure and direction. The Chagga people believe that the Divine Mystery directs each human life toward growth, goodness, and wholeness in a life shared with others and universe. Humans are continually invited by this Ultimate Goodness and Meaningfulness to be good, to do good; in short, to think, talk, and act morally and ethically. For the Chagga people, therefore, as well as for other African indigenous peoples, good must be done, and a moral life has to be lived, not for the sake of God, or for the sake of a final reward in heaven, but first, because it is good, and secondly, because goodness and morality enhance the eternal goodness and intrinsic harmony, already created by the Divine Mystery. What, then, is the connection between this belief in the Divine Mystery and IK? What has religious belief to do with IK? In the Chagga context, where life is lived holistically, whatever is known and handed on to younger generations must contribute directly or indirectly to the furtherance of morality, goodness, harmony, and indeed Godliness. The reader, therefore, is invited to note that one cannot engage in a scientific discussion of Chagga IK by separating IK from their religious and moral worldview. Their fundamental human or moral values of generosity, justice, peace, reverence, et cetera, are part and parcel of that which is handed on from one generation to the next as IK. And, for the Chagga people, the Divine Mystery is the Ultimate Model of goodness, justice, reverence, and so on. IK has always a transcendent aspect because the Divine Mystery is the Ultimate Knowledge and Ultimate Meaningfulness. Parents, for example, are viewed as Godlike, because they nourish and nurture life. Children, too, have a divine aspect because they are seen as God’s gift to the world. Thus, everyone, everything, and every facet of knowledge has an inherent aspect of

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the divine, so much so that one cannot speak of Chagga IK without seriously taking into account this first facet of their worldview. The second facet is a conviction that human ongoing formation, reformation, and transformation are essential projects in life. The Chagga people believe that human life must grow and flourish physically, intellectually, and morally from birth to death. They see these aspects of human growth as one holistic becoming, not as three separate ways of growth. At the very center of this ongoing becoming is a gradual formation of good human behavior. The forming and reforming of a person’s character is fundamental in the emergence of genuine humanity and essential for harmonious living with all that is. The well-being of the visible world and that of the transcosmic one (spirit world, communion with the deceased, etc.) depends to a great extent on the level of individual and communal moral living. A sound human morality or spirituality gives birth to consonant human, cosmic, and transcosmic experience. Thus, the number one priority of Chagga indigenous culture is to hand down to the younger generation knowledge and wisdom that continually forms, reforms, and transforms the individual and the community. Through centuries of experience, the Chagga realize that the knowledge that empowers them to cope with their agroecological and socio-cultural environments must be knowledge that first and foremost molds their spiritual and moral backbone. They realize beyond any shadow of a doubt that their culture, society, and ecology can only be sustained by a clearly defined sense and practice of morality and ethics. No wonder, therefore, that the entire educational or formational system of the Chagga people is inspired by this single paradigm: human and cosmic harmony hinges on human moral living. A significant part of Chagga IK has the sole purpose of molding the human heart towards the acquisition of these cherished human values: reverence, self-control, thoughtfulness (periodic moments of silence), hard work, community consciousness, courage, and honesty. A bulk of Chagga stories, sayings, ritual, and proverbs, for example, are used in various contexts to help the young to acquire the above values. Raum (1940) gives a list of four major possessions of the Chagga: land, cattle, water, and proverbs.2 The knowledge and use of proverbs is for them as important as land, cattle, and water. Thus, moral formation through proverbs, stories, rituals, etc., is as fundamental as economic growth (through land and cattle) and as essential as physical health (through nourishment by water). All indigenous African peoples


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have a large collection of sayings and proverbs that are passed on from one generation to the next as part of IK.3 Many of the proverbs, stories, and sayings are efficient tools which mold good moral behavior and character. They are a constituent element of IK. According to the third facet, there is an intrinsic unity between the individual and the community. The Chagga and African views of a person strike a balance between one’s collective identity as a member of a society and one’s personal identity as a unique individual. In this view, the self is definable in the context of society, and society is definable through its unique members. Mbiti (1970) aptly puts it: “I am, because we are; and since we are, therefore I am.” This way of understanding a person has significant impact on IK, on how it is defined, and how it is passed on. IK is essentially information and wisdom that enhances the well-being of each person, of society, of those to come, and of the agroecological environment. When, for example, Chagga parents teach their children how to get a good crop of bananas, they would also, at the same time, teach them several other things: (1) that working hard is a blessing and a fundamental human value; (2) that certain methods must be applied to protect the farm from soil erosion; (3) that this particular farm belonged previously to family ancestors who should always be remembered, respected, and appreciated; (4) that a good crop will feed the family and others in need; et cetera. Thus, what is known and passed on has personal, social, moral, and ecological implications. IK is knowledge and education that underscores the importance of bondedness, cooperation, altruism, generosity, and environmental protection. A social-moral imperative is, therefore, at the core of IK and education. According to the final facet of the Chagga worldview, the universe is a web of one interconnected, inter-related, and interdependent whole. Humanity and all other beings form one large family which must continually act and relate as one entity in order to enhance and preserve the harmony already inherent in them. The entire universe is humanity’s intimate partner in life. Furthermore, in this facet, the Chagga people find themselves interacting with a universe that is dynamic, alive, calling, and giving all sorts of messages. According to this understanding, everything is alive. Stones and mountains, rivers and lakes, clouds and rain, are all alive in their intrinsic meanings and in their active partnership to people and everything else. Zahan (1983) notes that in the mind of indigenous Africans, the cosmos is not fixed, cold, and mute; on the contrary, it is

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full of meanings, laden with messages, and always “speaking.”4 It is, therefore, humanity’s responsibility to engage in an intimate and positive interaction with the universe, to read and decipher its meanings and messages. In continually attempting to read, decipher, and know each aspect of the universe, the indigenous African develops profound reverence and fascination with the universe. Moreover, the Chagga people, and Africans in general, realize, out of time-tested experience, that humans cannot live humanly and harmoniously in a “sick” universe. They know that they have the responsibility to develop, preserve, and protect all natural resources. They continually try to avoid a mere utilitarian relationship with the universe, and strive to develop a caring and spiritual relationship with it. The Maasai People of Tanzania and Kenya, for instance, revere the Earth as the Mother God. Hunters beseech an animal for forgiveness before sacrificing it for food or ritual celebration. In short, every facet of the universe is, in a way, sacred, and its place in the circle of life is fundamental. This trend of thought has several implications on IK. First, the Chagga people approach all that is, from a holistic viewpoint. All aspects of the universe are inter-related. Analysis is done only to enhance wholeness and totality. Whatever is known, and passed on as knowledge, is known in the context of its relationship to life and world. All knowledge, therefore, has a holistic, relational, and spiritual aspect. Secondly, knowledge of the universe and of its constituent parts includes, ipso facto, reverence and awe for what is known. When, for instance, a mother teaches her daughter that the leaves of a certain plant are medicine for headache, she, at the same time, teaches her to respect that plant as a partner in life. Early non-African authors tended to misunderstand this respect and awe for natural phenomena and misnamed it animism.5 Thirdly, indigenous Africans know that nature itself is a master recycler. Nature does not waste anything. It changes the forms of substances to new forms in order to enhance and renew the circle of life. For this reason, indigenous Africans do not “throw” away things. “Why should a person throw away a friend?” elders always ask. The grandfather of this author would always say: “Do not throw bones after eating meat off them. Lay them gently in the banana farm where they will become manure. Have some respect for the animal that is now part of you.” Recycling, therefore, is a respectful and economic way of preserving the circle of life.


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In summary, the implications of this worldview on Chagga IK are: whatever is known contributes, in some measure, to the enhancement of morality and cosmic harmony; the fundamental aim of Chagga IK is to provide intellectual and spiritual formation; IK always emphasizes the importance of bondedness, cooperation, and altruism; all that is, is interrelated and interdependent, forming a holistic circle of life that must be protected and preserved for the good of humanity and the universe. This is, therefore, the worldview that shapes Chagga IK and all their educational endeavors. The next section will examine the Chagga understanding of education in the context of the above worldview. Chagga Formational and Educational System: The Ipvunda Concept This section will examine The Chagga Indigenous Educational System in order to demonstrate the essential link between intellectual formation and moral formation in IK and education. The reader is reminded to keep in mind the four aspects of the worldview studied above as she or he reads this section and the next. The focus of this section, therefore, is the link. Details on how indigenous education is done will be the subject of another chapter elsewhere.6 The first concern in this section is to study the Chagga concept of ipvunda. In the Chagga language,7 the infinitive, ipvunda, means to mold or form a person in all aspects: physical, intellectual, and moral, with special emphasis on the moral aspect. Ipvunda begins when a baby is born and goes on throughout life. It picks up some speed when a child begins to talk, and goes into high gear in the teenage years in preparation for marriage and for life in general. As stated above, the holistic formation of children and youth is the number one priority of the society. The main concentration of ipvunda is to mold the inner-most core of a person, because, according to Chagga and African indigenous philosophy, the interior part of a person takes precedence over the outer part (Zahan, 1983, 53–65). Spiritual and moral formation is the foundation of physical and intellectual formation, so it is given elaborate and continued emphasis in the ipvunda process.8 Out of the inner-most core of a person emerge formative disposition such as reverence, respect, self-control, generosity, honesty, and so on. Such and similar dispositions are some of the essential goals in the Chagga educational system. The ipvunda program does not end with the cultivation of formative dispositions. It also includes teaching children and youth to acquire

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all necessary information, skills, and techniques needed in the Chagga agroecological and socio-cultural situation. These skills will include, among others, farming skills,9 house construction skills, cooking skills, first aid skills (basic knowledge of indigenous medicine), self-defense skills, sports and recreational skills, and so on. One must quickly note here that these skills are taught in the context of the worldview mentioned earlier and, indeed, in intimate association with the innermost core dispositions discussed above. Acquisition of certain information and skills alone would not make a person educated or cultured in the Chagga indigenous worldview. The mpvunde—that is, the fully educated person according to the Chagga people, is one who is formed, molded, and educated in a holistic way. Today, in Chaggaland, people distinguish between the mpvunde and the bookeducated person who has a lot of information about this or that, but seems to be lacking in adequate spiritual and moral formation. They expect an educated person to be one who is comprehensively formed: morally and intellectually. The concept of ipvunda, therefore, refers to the act of molding a person so holistically that one grows not only in knowledge and various skills, but also in the wisdom of life. These two goals of ipvunda are linked so essentially that the indigenous Chagga cannot imagine one without the other. Moreover, it is interesting to note here that the indigenous Chagga word imanya, which means to know, also includes the experience of awakening to wisdom and enlightenment. A Chagga proverb illustrates this point. “Samanya yekesonguo pvo,” means: “Wisdom or enlightenment often comes after a mistake or blunder.” The word samanya, enlightenment, comes from its root imanya, to know, to be enlightened, to possess wisdom. Thus, for the Chagga people, knowledge consists of these essential elements: information, skills, data, inspiration, intuition, wisdom, always in the context of their worldview and a holistic approach to life. This is Chagga IK in a nut-shell. Zahan (1983), writing on indigenous African initiation rites and knowledge, describes IK as an experience of transformation in one’s personality. This transformation is a gradual life-long process of moving from an immature, unenlightened person to a new knowing person.10 The two inseparable aspects of the Chagga process of ipvunda can be further elucidated by describing them as an education for a living and an education for life. An education for a living is a formation process in which Chagga children and youth learn all necessary information, skills, and techniques for efficient farming. Some of them


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train to become traditional doctors, metal workers, craftspeople, and so on. This is an education that prepares persons to earn their livelihood. An education for life, on the other hand, is one that molds the innermost core dispositions of a person. It provides wisdom and enlightenment so that one may live in harmony with others and world. It is spiritual and moral formation. It assists the learner to acquire fundamental human dispositions such as reverence for others and world, self-control, thoughtfulness, courage, cooperation, hard work, honesty, et cetera. This kind of education is the foundation on which an education for a living is based. Whereas the average reader can try to make a mental image of these two “distinct” aspects of indigenous education, the indigenous Chagga people do not make this distinction. Their existential, holistic paradigm is one in which education has two inseparable elements: education for a living and education for life; and knowledge is both information and wisdom. Indigenous Africans see these as two sides of the same coin, and a coin is not a coin without two sides. One cannot, therefore, speak of an indigenous knowledge that is distinct from spirituality or morality. In fact, IK is not IK, according to our findings so far, if the moral and spiritual aspects are missing. In indigenous Chagga philosophy, to know means both to have intellectual information about what is known, and to be spiritually inspired by the inherent transcendent aspects of the same known subject. For example, a person not only knows that a certain herb has a specific medicinal value, but also feels connected to it in the circle of life, and also is awed by its essential role in the universal rising and falling of forms. As noted above, therefore, all knowledge, in the Chagga paradigm, has holistic intellectual, relational, and spiritual facets. The total person as physical, intellectual, and spiritual, is involved in the knowing process. In concluding this section, the author contends that the fundamental worldview of the Chagga people, their concepts of knowledge, and holistic formation of children and youth have a significant contribution to offer to worldwide educational programs in all levels. The final section will serve two purposes: First, it will illustrate briefly that the ipvunda concept of education is present in nuanced forms in England and the U.S.A.; and secondly, it will propose some principles that may guide parents and educators in their search for better educational programs.

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Proposed Guidelines for the Formation of Holistic Contemporary Educational Programs Is the ipvunda concept of education a monopoly of the Chagga? An indepth study of the meaning of the words educate and education in the English language indicates that the “indigenous” English people have a similar holistic approach to education. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (2nd edition, 1989, Vol. 5), the word education originates from two Latin words: e and ducere. E stands for out (as in “exit”) and ducere means to lead. So educe means to bring out, develop from a condition of latent, rudimentary, or merely potential existence. A related Latin word, educare, is translated: to rear, bring up (children, young animals). From these origins, the dictionary gives several related meanings to the words: educate and education. Let us examine the meanings closest to the concept of ipvunda. To educate means to bring up a young person from childhood so as to form their habits, manners, intellectual, and physical aptitudes. It also means to train so as to develop the intellectual and moral powers generally.11 The word education denotes the systematic instruction, schooling, or training given to a person in preparation for the work of life. It also means a development of powers, formation of character as contrasted with the imparting of mere knowledge and skill, often with these limiting words: intellectual, moral, and physical.12 The Webster’s Third New International Dictionary (1993) also provides several related meanings to the word educate. One of these is notably very close to the concept of ipvunda. To educate means to develop (a person) by fostering to varying degrees the growth or expansion of knowledge, wisdom, desirable qualities of mind or character, physical health, or general competence, especially by a course of formal study or instruction; to assist in providing with knowledge or wisdom, moral balance, or good physical condition. Several aspects of education, according to these dictionaries, stand out in relationship to the Chagga concept of ipvunda. These are: to rear; to bring up; to form habits and manners; to develop intellectual and moral powers; formation of character as contrasted with the imparting of mere knowledge and skill; and intellectual, moral, and physical formation. In short, the Roman and English indigenous systems of education include what the Chagga people call an education for a living and an education for life; that is, intellectual and moral formation. It is clear, therefore, that a holistic education is a fundamental human value that goes beyond the borders of the Chagga and the British.


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In the U.S.A., for instance, the idea of providing a college or university education, which is both intellectual and moral formation, has been a priority in numerous colleges and universities, in particular the private ones. In its 1995–1996 Undergraduate Studies Catalog, Loyola University of Chicago states in its Mission Statement that Loyola “values freedom of inquiry, the pursuit of truth, and care of others, especially the young, the poor, and the sick.” Loyola gives an education which “encourages students to develop all dimensions of themselves— intellectual, emotional, physical, creative, moral, and spiritual.” Curry College aims at giving an education which enables students to: think critically; communicate effectively; understand context; appreciate aesthetic experience; define a personal identity, et cetera. By defining a personal identity, students are challenged to identify their strengths and weaknesses as learners; to become increasingly self-directed and disciplined; to care for self and others; to behave more responsibly, personally, and collectively; to become more aware of their physical, social, psychological, and spiritual identity.13 A final example comes from Santa Clara University where the Board of Trustees states that the purpose of a university is to prepare students to assume leadership roles in society through an education that stresses moral and spiritual, as well as intellectual and aesthetic values, seeks to answer not only “what is” but “what should be,” and encourages faith and the promotion of justice.14 While these excellent goals are not always fully achievable, it is eminently commendable that many colleges and universities are aware of the urgency for such a holistic education and are seriously doing something about it. This author has had the opportunity to study and discuss this subject (of holistic education according to the ipvunda concept) with university students in Tanzania, Kenya, and the U.S.A. Invariably, most of those students who support a holistic education think that it should be given by families and local communities and by all schools, from kindergarten all the way to college. Many of these students believe that it is almost too late to provide such an education on a college level if it is not adequately provided in the elementary and secondary levels. As a parent and as an educator on the secondary and university levels for about twenty years, this author cannot agree more. The fundamental idea in the Chagga tradition of ipvunda is therefore supported, not only by other indigenous African peoples, but also by numerous people in and out of academia, worldwide. One is reminded

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here of the growing global awareness of the need for an ongoing dialogue on family values, student-centered education, value-oriented education, interdisciplinary-oriented syllabi, and so on. It is therefore appropriate, at this point, that the author proposes four guidelines in the urgently needed reformation of contemporary education programs. The first guideline states that all aspects of educational programs should be holistic in content and in purpose. This demands the audacity to discard the age-old tendency to think that spirituality and morality are distinct from intellectual pursuits. It demands awakening to the fact, already known by indigenous peoples everywhere, that a person’s mind and heart (spirit, transcending, and transcendent dimension) must be formed, molded, and developed together. Mental growth and moral awakening must go hand in hand. Spirituality is not a road on which humans are free to travel or not to travel. They must choose to travel on it in order to be human. In fact, according to the experience of indigenous peoples everywhere, and the experience of this author, spirituality is the foundation of all human endeavor. It is the foundation of good families, of thriving communities, of enduring cultures and civilizations. This is why, among the indigenous Chagga people, the word imanya means both to know and to be enlightened (moral awareness). Educators today may learn from this insight by paying more attention to the IK principle that any education, at whatever level, which exclusively or almost exclusively involves the intellectual powers of learners, through conscious or unconscious neglect of their spiritual and moral inborn potential, ultimately erodes human development. This may very well be one of the reasons why there are many voices in academia today, sounding almost prophetic and urgent, strongly advocating an education which is student-centered and value-oriented. One of those voices comes from this writer. His experience indicates that an exclusively intellectually-oriented education seems to hypothesize that reason alone is the main source of knowledge, and that reason alone can explain all human experiences. Deeper thinking and reflection reveals that there are ways of knowing through inspiration, insight, intuition. There are times when people know through feeling, through unexplainable inner-most core intuitions. This is the realm of the spirit. Many scientists today realize that the human spirit is another fundamental way of knowing. The French philosopher Blaise Pascal (1623–1662) stated that the heart has reasons which reason (mind) cannot fully understand. It is, therefore, imperative that educators, formators, and parents strive to provide an education that not only challenges and


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informs the mind, but also inspires the heart. The lesson from IK to contemporary educators, therefore, is: give a holistic education that forms the whole person; physical, intellectual, and moral. The second guideline, related to the first, is that education should be integrative and relational in approach and content. The aim here is to give students a clear message that all fields of study and scientific research are integrated and related because all objects of study are already interconnected, inter-related, and interdependent in the web of the universe. Chagga indigenous education offers valuable insights on this matter because it underscores the personal, social, moral, and ecological aspects of everything known and experienced. When, for example, a Chagga elder tells the story of the origin of Mount Kilimanjaro, the listeners will almost always experience, deep in their heart, a sense of awe and wonder. They will know and feel related to the mountain. Their imagination will be stretched to see a transcendent or more than aspect of Kilimanjaro which evokes appreciation, reverence, awe. Their spirit is touched. And so, of course, is their intellect. Indeed, the story side of every object of learning is fundamental in education. The analytical facet of education gives useful data and information; the story part gives birth to insight, awe, wonder, reverence and, therefore, wisdom. It relates the known object to all that is. In this educational paradigm, every educator is also a story teller, a parent, a sage, a caregiver, a life companion. The purpose of such integrated and relational education is to provide, first, information, skills, and techniques that are essential for earning a living and, secondly, wisdom and moral enlightenment which are fundamental in everyday living. Many colleges and universities today are trying to give this double-edged education by requiring all students, regardless of their major, to take courses in philosophy, theology, spirituality, and ethics. Students are also encouraged to take courses in Women’s Studies, Justice and Peace Studies, Minorities Studies, and so on. Many academicians see the urgent need for a holistic education, but the actual provision for such an education is inadequate and far from being widespread. The opportunity, therefore, to learn from the wisdom of indigenous education and knowledge is, indeed, here. A third proposed guideline is that educators at all levels need to keep in mind the original meaning of the word education, and, more importantly, actually provide that kind of education. To educate, in the original sense of the word, means to bring up or raise a child; to form the habits, manners, and intellectual aptitudes of a person; to train and develop the intellectual and moral powers; to foster in a

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person varying degrees of growth and expansion in knowledge, wisdom, desirable qualities of mind and character; to provide or assist in acquiring knowledge, wisdom, and moral balance. Chagga IK agrees fully with this definition of education. This is education as most indigenous peoples have known it; this is education that educators today cannot afford to neglect. It may not be an overstatement to say at this point that contemporary educational systems are badly in need of a radical reformation and transformation.15 It is imperative that educational systems move from an almost exclusively informational education (concerned with information, data, knowledge) to a balanced system in which formational education (concerned with character, morality, wisdom) gets its rightful place. The final guideline states that providing a holistic education will be possible if all concerned get involved. These include parents, family members, teachers, educators, formators, politicians, religious organizations; indeed, everyone. Whomever has a significant relationship with a child or youth must contribute to the holistic formation of that child or youth. It will not work if, for example, there is a division of labor: Mrs. X teaches only Geography and Mr. Z only teaches ethics, or parents teach good manners and teachers teach reading, writing, and arithmetic. This is inadequate. Indigenous peoples do not do it this way. Geography, reading, writing, arithmetic, and so on should be taught in a way that informs the mind and inspires the heart. Every teacher is also a formator; one who imparts wisdom, enlightenment. It is the experience of countless people that, long after they graduate, they remember not only the information and data given by a certain teacher in grade school or professor so and so in college. They also vividly remember the inspiration, encouragement, and appreciation they received from that teacher. People will say “Professor Z believed in me,” or “Mrs. so and so in high school taught me never to give up, rather to persist in following my dream.” It is the contention of this author that a holistic education similar in essence to the Chagga ipvunda process, adapted accordingly to different cultures and countries, creates a more nurturing and formative culture. It is an education which contemporary civilizations cannot afford to ignore. A holistic education is the key to the formation of mature, caring, and responsible citizens. More police officers, bigger prisons, longer prison sentences, less guns, capital punishment, et cetera will not mean less crime, safer neighborhoods, a more civilized nation. The lesson from IK and its consequent education system is that


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civilizations are built on character, intelligence, and morals, not on prisons and punishments. The guidelines proposed above, therefore, cannot be overemphasized. Conclusion This chapter has attempted to demonstrate through a case study of the Chagga worldview and its consequent educational paradigm, that Chagga IK has two major and inseparable aspects: intellectual development and ongoing moral or spiritual awakening. Whatever is known and passed on as cherished tradition from one generation to the next has a holistic, relational, and spiritual aspect. In order to adequately study Chagga IK and IK in general, one has to pay attention to, and appreciate, this essential link in indigenous life and experience. The chapter also illustrates the nature of this link, its implications on the ipvunda system of indigenous Chagga education, and potential lessons for contemporary educational programs. Details on indigenous Chagga pedagogical methods will be dealt with in a separate publication by the same author. For the time being, the author is confident that findings and insights emerging from this study will contribute to the ongoing study and appreciation of IK, and, thereafter, to the improvement of contemporary educational programs. Endnotes 1. The Divine Mystery has been given various names and attributes by all indigenous religions and cultures. Examples are God, the Mystery of Formation, Allah, Yahweh, Great Spirit, Great Ancestor, creator, et cetera. 2. Raum (1967, p. 217. 3. See, for instance, Barra (1991). Thousand Kikuyu Proverbs. (2nd ed.). Nairobi: Kenya Literature Bureau; Knappert (1989) The AZ of African Proverbs. London: Karnak House; Leslau (1985). African Proverbs. New York: Peter Pauper Press. 4. Zahan (1983), p. 81. 5. By animism, these authors meant that indigenous Africans attribute a spirit and conscious life to natural phenomena such as trees, animals, and birds.

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6. The author is currently writing, for future publication, on the Indigenous Chagga methods of forming and teaching children and youth. 7. The population of Chagga people of Northern Tanzania is about one million. Their indigenous language, Kichagga, has three main variations in the three original districts of Hai, Vunjo, and Rombo. The word “ipvunda” is from Vunjo District, home of this author. 8. Van Kaam (1986) speaks of “Formation of the Human Heart” in volume three of his Formative Spirituality Book Series. His idea of forming the human heart in dispositions such as appreciation, reverence, and gentleness, is very similar to the Chagga concept of “ipvunda.” 9. The Chagga people are mainly farmers. 10. Zahan (1983), p. 53–65. 11. Author’s emphasis. 12. Author’s emphasis. 13. Catalog, 1995–1996, Curry College, Milton, MA. 14. Santa Clara University, Undergraduate Bulletin, 1995–1996. 15. The word radical here is used in context of its Latin origin radix, meaning root. Implied here is that education systems need a fundamental transformation. References Capra, Fritjof (1975). The Tao of Physics. Boulder, CO: Shambhala Publications. Emberley, Peter C. (1995). Values Education and Technology: The Ideology of Dispossession. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Garrod, Andrew (Ed). (1992). Learning for Life. Westport, CT: Praeger. Lewis, Catherine C. (1995). Educating Hearts and Minds: Reflections on Japanese Preschool and Elementary Education. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


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Lickona, Thomas. (1991). Educating for Character. How Our Schools Can Teach Respect and Responsibility. New York: Bantam Books. Mbiti, John S. (1970). African Religions and Philosophy. London: Heinemann. Raum, O.F. (1967). Chagga Childhood: A Description of Indigenous Education in an East African Tribe. London: Oxford University Press. Ternasky, P.Lance (1992). Moral Realism Revisited: An Achievable Morality. Educational Theory 42, 201–216. Van Kaam, Adrian (1986). Formation of the Human Heart. New York: Crossroad. Zahan, Dominique (1983). The Religion, Spirituality, and Thought of Traditional Africa. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Indigenous Languages in the School Curriculum: What Happened to Kiswahili in Kenya? Lucy Mule Introduction The choice of language and the use to which language is put is central to a peoples’ definition of themselves in relation to their natural and social environment indeed in relation to the entire universe.

(Ngugi wa Thiong’o, 1986, p. 4) As Ngugi succinctly states, language is central to any human society both as a means of communication and a carrier of culture (p. 13). Yet, there exists divergent views on what role language plays in literacy, especially school literacy. The issue of the language of literacy becomes even more complex when one is dealing with a multilingual, economically developing country like Kenya with a colonial past that deeply eroded its cultural rubrics and ushered in a Western type of literacy inscribed with the ideals of modernism. Central to the colonial worldview was the notion of the superiority of the colonial language and the inferiority of indigenous languages. Language policy shifts, then, reflected patterns that served to legitimize this notion. At Independence, in 1963, a clear dichotomy emerged between a section of policymakers and educators regarding the role of Kiswahili and other indigenous languages in the new state. For instance, the recommendation in 1967 by the then Minister of Education Mr. Nyagah that Kiswahili become a compulsory subject at all levels and in teacher training institutions was furiously contested. President Kenyatta’s declarations in 1970 that Kiswahili be adopted as the official language and in 1974 that it become the national language and the only language of Parliament were in both instances met with such hostility that they were reversed almost immediately (Mazrui & Shariff, 1994; Mbuyi,

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1987; Shiundu & Omulando, 1992). The power play underlying language policy in Kenya has greatly impacted on the choice of the language of instruction in the school curriculum. This chapter underlines the centrality of the linguistic medium to the school curriculum. Since the language adopted in the school curriculum is not merely an educational choice but also a political one, the chapter will interrogate the policy and practice, in postindependence Kenya, that privileges English as the core language of the curriculum and consequently undermines the use of African Languages in the curriculum. Examined too will be the contradictions inherent in the choice of a non-indigenous language as the medium of instruction in post-independence Kenyan schools and how these contradictions affect teaching and learning in the classroom. Language Situation in Kenya Kenya has a “trilingual” language pattern comprising English, the language of the former colonial master; Kiswahili, an African lingua franca originating from the coast but spoken by a great number of people for whom it is not a first language; and about over thirty local languages and dialect clusters each limited to usage within the ethnic communities for which it is the first language (Whiteley, 1974; Mbuyi, 1987). Given this language spectrum, school-going children are predisposed to have mastered at least three different languages by the time they leave primary school. Their language heritage is mainly determined by their ethnic community and the government language policy. English is the official language used to conduct government business. It is also the medium of instruction from upper primary to university and the language of examination for all subjects other than other languages in all national examinations. At home, learners are exposed to their mother tongue and sometimes, especially in urban and resettlement areas, at least one other vernacular spoken by neighbors or peers, before they learn Kiswahili, which is the national language. Before they can master English, they will have become fluent in the language(s) which they use at home, at play, in the market and in church. Owing to urbanization, resettlement and inter-ethnic marriages, the number of children who learn Kiswahili as their first language is increasing by the day. Kiswahili is the language spoken in political events, market places, in some homes and during all activities that bring together people who do not share a common vernacular. The language has increasingly become popular mainly due to its status

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as the national language. Further recognition of the language was legitimized when in 1985 it was made a compulsory subject for all students at both primary and secondary school levels. For example, in 1987, it was estimated that 75% of the Kenyan population spoke Kiswahili (Mbuyi, 1987). While most children acquire their mother tongues and/or Kiswahili mainly because they need to belong to their immediate society, English is only taught in a restricted environment of the classroom to disseminate abstract knowledge that does not relate directly to their world as they experience it everyday. Why does the Kenyan education system choose to privilege a foreign language in a sensitive institution like the school at the expense of languages that the students can relate more meaningfully to? What role should the language of literacy serve in a people’s identity? What are some of the ramifications of Kenya’s language policy for teaching and learning in the classroom? This chapter will explore these three questions by inquiring into the school curriculum with a view of suggesting that sustainable education and curricular reforms must of necessity start by addressing the issue of the language of instruction. The Place of Indigenous Languages in Kenya’s School Curriculum Reform Kenya, like many other independent African countries inherited and adopted the former colonizer’s system of education with its emphasis on school literacy. Since then, school literacy has been seen as the only means to overcome economic underdevelopment and promote social development. The school and its curriculum has therefore assumed a central role in the way Kenyans define their identity. This fact was acknowledged at independence and ever since is evidenced in the number of education review commissions that periodically convene to align education to the social and economic realities in the society. The first post-independence education commission popularly known as the Ominde commission of 1964, underlined the need to produce required manpower for development, ensure equity, uphold cultural traditions and promote national and individual advancement (Shiundu & Omulando, 1992). Later commissions (1971, 1978, 1981) have basically built on the same goals (Eshiwani, 1993). In spite of the government’s efforts in allocating a significant share of available resources to education, the curriculum, since the 1970s, has continually been criticized for not comprehensively addressing

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the needs of the Kenyans. The overriding criticism has been that, “the content is irrelevant and inappropriate; that is, it emphasizes passing of examinations at the expense of the acquisition of knowledge and skills and developing attitudes appropriate for effective living” (Mbuyi, 1987). Freire and Macedo (1987) refer to this tendency in the curriculum as the “banking” concept of learning and urge for a liberatory curriculum that engages the learner’s intelligence in dealing with the realities as they face them in their day to day lives. The issue of relevance has dogged the curriculum and a good number of revisions have been undertaken as a result of recommendations from the various education commissions assigned to address this issue. The recommendations often are geared to inculcating in the learners, skills, attitudes and values considered necessary for promoting individual and societal development. The most recent of these, with perhaps the most far reaching consequences, involved the implementation in 1985 of the curriculum based on the controversial 8–4–4 education system. This system emphasizes technical and vocational education for all students and requires learners to undergo eight years of primary, eight years of secondary and at least four years of university education. A glaring problem in the implementation of education goals has been the imbalance that has emphasized the economic goals at the expense of other social and cultural oriented goals. The emphasis on economic aspects has reflected the embrace of Western values where education is objectified as the sole instrument to achieve a Western type of development, synonymous with economic prosperity. There has been a virtual neglect of those curricular components that emphasize social and cultural goals. For example, although the Gachathi Report of 1976 specifically promoted African cultural values in the curriculum (Eshiwani, 1993, p. 27), only token changes such as the introduction of oral literature in secondary schools in 1981 were initiated. Since then, oral literature which some critics view as “a subject of conflicting and intersecting rhetorics, ideologies, and methodologies” (Samper, 1997, p. 41), has failed to take root in the curriculum. In the current configuration, study of oral literature has been reduced to a section of the English Paper Two in the national secondary school qualifying examination (Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education). The only other avenue for indigenous languages and cultures is the national school music and drama festivals held once a year. Officially, these activities are classified as “co-curricular”. What this means is that they are not an integral part of what is regarded as official curriculum.


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Consequently, it is not mandatory that students participate in them, and a student can, and many do, go through the school system without participating in these activities at all. In any case, whether or not those students participating in the drama and music festivals learn anything meaningfully related to their cultures is another matter altogether. Clearly, there is need for the curriculum planners and developers to address more seriously the cultural and social realities of the learners in the curriculum. According to Ondiek (1986), “children like adults, learn more from their environmental experiences of life than from their books and teachers” (p. 26). Central to the learners’ cultural and social experiences are the languages they use in their everyday interactions. Whether or not their languages are accommodated within the curriculum has far reaching pedagogical implications. It is also a fundamental question underlying a critical curriculum inquiry. As argued by Semali and Stambach (1997), the field of curriculum must move away from restricting itself to the narrow confines of content to a broader scope that allows for critical inquiry into “the intentions of curriculum practice and the very assumptions underlying the production and reproduction of knowledge embedded in the process of curriculum development and practice” (p. 6). Why the learners’ language(s) are ignored and often deemphasized is a fundamental curricular question. Inquiry, I maintain, into the question will reveal not only a lack of will and interest to address the learners’ out of school experiences but would also suggest that learners are not regarded as knowledge producers. Closely related to this line of inquiry is the issue of whose language is privileged in the curriculum and whose is left out and what implications this may have on the education process. Why a Non-Indigenous Language is Inappropriate as the Core Language of the Curriculum An examination of the language issue in Kenya reveals obvious contradictions in an education policy that has perpetuated suppression of indigenous languages and supported the continued use of English language as the medium of instruction and examination in schools. Like most newly independent African states, Kenya inherited a colonial language policy, despite the cultural problems it creates (Mateene, 1980; Bokamba & Tlou, 1977). The political elite, then, favored the status quo as illustrated by Mazrui’s rather graphic description of the sheer hostility in 1969 by legislators to the suggestion to legislate Kiswahili as the national language and to have Parliament business

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conducted in the same language (Mazrui & Sharrif, 1994). The same attitude can be noted in the Ominde Commission of 1964, which expressed the sentiment that the “vernacular languages were ill adapted for the role of educational medium in the critical early years of schooling” (Shiundu & Omulando, 1992, p. 326). This stand was later reviewed and in 1970 it was recommended that standard 1–3 be taught in the local vernacular. Normally, it was the community’s language in the rural areas and Kiswahili or English in the urban and new settlement areas. However, while this remains the policy the attitude that indigenous languages are unsuitable for school literacy continues to be reflected in the schools in the late 1990s. The view that a people’s own language is inadequate for literacy betrays the ideological inclinations of the education policy makers. As Mazrui and Shariff (1994, p. 55) have correctly observed, “the identity of a people is often intimately related to their language.” Contrary to this observation and in contradiction to the Africanization stance that ostensibly is expressed by most of the government development policy documents, English continues to occupy the central place in the curriculum. The inherent contradiction in this practice reflects the belief in the colonial justification for imposing a foreign language at the expense of native languages. Undoubtedly, this practice operates as a form of cultural and mental domination. If, indeed, language is central to the struggle for self-determination, as well as mental and cultural decolonization, then a foreign language is an inappropriate tool for reclaiming what Afro-centric scholar Molefi Asante calls “a centered place.” He argues that: to reclaim a centered place in economic, social and political contexts, the African must find centering in a cultural and psychological sense. To be moved off of one’s terms is to be a victim of aggression, whether physical or mental. The conscious behavior of the African must be one of seeking to return from the margins and to regain terms. (Asante, 1990, p. 173)

A similar viewpoint is espoused by ideologues, theoreticians and pedagogues such as Paulo Freire, Julius Nyerere, Kwameh Nkurumah, Henry Giroux, Joe Kincheloe, John Dewey and Frantz Fanon, who have advocated a socially and culturally specific literacy that closely identifies with the immediate environment of the learner. That this liberatory function of literacy has been hampered by language policies


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in formerly colonized nations of Africa and Kenya is no exception. Bokamba (1995) argues that “the current African language policies cannot constitute a basis for future cultural, economic, educational, and political developments; they represent, instead, prescriptions for stagnation and continued underdevelopment of various sorts that will threaten…the very existence of African cultures” (p. 11). How then does language fit in with a literacy that is socially and culturally specific? There is a vital link between language and culture since as Freire posits “the students’ language is the only means by which they can develop their own voice, a prerequisite to development of a positive self-worth” (Freire & Macedo, 1987, p. 4). This clear cut empowerment of students in their effort to master their immediate environment through their own language is what is lacking in school literacy. Instead, education continues to be viewed as classroom instruction that leads to the mastery of an abstract body of knowledge. A foreign medium of instruction completes this alienated picture of Kenya’s education. The language situation in Kenya calls for a radical re-thinking of the place of indigenous languages in education planning and in curriculum design and practice. The Political Death of an Indigenous Language Up to this point, I have emphasized the centrality of the learners’ language in a meaningful curriculum. It is equally important, however, to underline the fact that the adoption of an African language as the language of literacy will not by itself make education more sensitive and relevant to the socio-cultural environment of the learner. Language and content are so intricately intertwined in determination of relevance of the curriculum that change in one without the other cannot achieve much. In the words of Mbuyi (1987), “the problem of content and its relevance to the socio-economic environment is clearly more complex to be resolved by ‘language switch’” (p. 52). Furthermore, language policy masks deeper political and ideological implications that keep a particular economic system in place and which directly influence the content of the curriculum. In Kenya, for instance, issues of social inequality and unequitable distribution of wealth are endemic, having been inherited from the colonial era. A conscious effort to correct this reality will inevitably engage the school as an institution and its curriculum as a political whole. Since the linguistic medium is an integral part of the curriculum, policy makers cannot afford to sidestep the problematic issue of language, especially the historical use of English to maintain inequalities in Kenya. For instance, a policy that uses an

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African language would inevitably have to rethink the Western capitalistic model of development on which Kenyan education is based. The political nature of school and consequently of the linguistic medium of the school curriculum is best articulated by Putz (1995), who identifies language as a major tool of ideological control. In this sense, discrimination against indigenous languages in Kenya can be seen mainly as lack of political will (Bokamba, 1995) and as part of what Scotton (1990) and Rabagumya (1994) have respectively described as “elite closure” and “hidden agenda.” In this context, the small but powerful class of the political elite use the language policy to limit access of non-elite to social and economic mobility. Seen in this light, language policy and its implementation in the school curriculum becomes a political choice. Indeed it has been noted that the school, schooling and the curriculum at any given time subscribe to and articulate a political stance of the powers that be (see Kincheloe, 1993). Given these contingencies, any discussion on language policy change in the school curriculum would in essence need to address the political and ideological framework within which the desired change would operate. It would call for something akin to the situation in Tanzania, where at independence under President Julius Nyerere the country sought to break away from capitalism and adopted an African socialism called Ujamaa. Kiswahili was recognized not only as the official language, but also as the language of instruction in schools. The system of education adopted was geared toward promoting rural development and self sufficiency and Kiswahili was seen as central in this effort. Although this move has elicited criticism, compared to Kenya, Tanzania has been more successful in incorporating the learners’ indigenous reality into the curriculum in as far as using an indigenous language as a medium of instruction in schools is concerned. Researchers report elaborate plans to enhance Kiswahili as the medium of instruction at all levels of education (Mwansoko, 1994). For instance, the Directorate of Culture and National Language recommended in 1987 “to start using Swahili as a medium in form one in 1993 so that by the year 2004 the whole education system in Tanzania would be ‘swahilinized’” (p. 18). Although changing politics have stood in the way of realization of such goals (Rajabu & Ngonyani, 1994), there exists an open attitude among educators and the general public that Kiswahili is as adequate as English, if not more so, as a language of literacy in the school system. As mentioned elsewhere in this chapter, the choice of the linguistic medium of the curriculum is rarely a purely education issue. Political


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statements have in subtle ways enhanced the view that African languages are inadequate to meet the various challenges that Kenya faces. It is opportune at this point, therefore, to examine some of the political arguments that affect language policy and consequently determine the linguistic medium of the school curriculum. Leading is the “preservation of unity” in new nation states argument. It has been argued that “use of an African language/official language in a multilingual nation will lead to ethnic conflicts which could destroy the delicate national unity created since the liberation struggle” (Bokamba, 1995). This argument becomes less convincing in a case where a popularly used African language like Kiswahili, which is not only widely spoken in Kenya but also in most of the East and Central Africa region, is given little official recognition. In the current move towards the restoration of East African Community (EAC) which broke in the 1970s, and the strengthening of Preferential Trade Area (PTA) between East and Central Africa, the role of Swahili as a unifying factor both at national and regional level can not be ignored. Further, the argument for English language as a unifying factor for the Kenyan people is a fallacy in that only 17% (Heine, 1990, p. 180) of the population is literate in the language. Rather than a unifying role, English has instead acquired an elitist function (Putz, 1995). Furthermore, more than ever before, Kenya has increasingly had to deal with politically instigated inter-ethnic clashes. The climax in this violence was reached in 1992, in the infamous Molo ethnic cleansing when thousands from the Kikuyu ethnic group lost their lives. The ripples of this violence have since then spread to other communities and many people’s lives have been lost this way. Given the argument above, it is ludicrous to discriminate against an African language on the premise that English language fosters unity in Kenya. Other arguments against recognition of non-European languages as official languages and languages of instruction, include the argument that indigenous languages are deficient in bringing about technological and economic development, and that they are expensive to advance to the level where they can function as mediums of instruction at all levels in school. These arguments are discounted by Bakomba (1995) who gives examples of countries in Asia like Japan and Korea where economic and technological development has been achieved without the help of European languages. He argues that, admittedly, it is expensive and time consuming to build any language to the level of medium of instruction as evidenced in the history of the evolution of

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English language. But rather than use language as an excuse, he argues that African governments should devise efficient and cost-effective education. In line with this argument, it is lamentable that African governments, which spend a significant portion of the national budgets on education, should settle for an education that ignores the social realities of the learners. Besides the economic and political reasons discussed so far, the choice of language of the curriculum is also indicative of a government’s commitment to recognizing and enhancing the indigenous cultures of its citizens. In Kenya, the relegation of Kiswahili to a national language status and the virtual disregard for vernaculars while English continues to enjoy the status of the country’s official language and the language of instruction in schools, reveals a lot about the alienated nature of our educational system. As Kunnie (1995) observes, “language constitutes the vehicle by which essential cultural and cosmological idioms are transmitted, removing a people’s language is tantamount to destroying their culture and consequently undermining the ability of a nation to sustain itself.” The government has the moral responsibility to protect and enhance the people’s pride in themselves. The absence of this commitment, particularly towards learners, forces the question: whose interests, between the learners and the mostly foreign owned publishing companies who monopolize the production of literacy materials, are being served by an alienated curriculum? Teaching and Learning in a Non-Indigenous Language The instruction in a foreign language clearly curtails the students’ ability to acquire and share information. Studies conducted in several African countries report the negative effects of teaching in foreign languages (Taha, 1989; Trappes-Lomax, 1990; Auther, 1994.). Using English as the privileged language in the school curriculum often reflects a misleading notion that the language is operating within a monolingual framework, an assumption that “ignores the bilingual/multilingual competence or exposure of the foreign language learner in and outside the foreign language classroom” (Jobe, 1995). What this means, therefore, is that an otherwise vibrant and extroverted student will be forced into a docile role in the classroom because she/he is not free to use the language(s) in which she/he can best express his reality. Some schools have even been known to use deterrent measures to discourage students from using any language other than English within the school compound.


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In spite of the emphasis the curriculum lays on English language, its dominance is seriously challenged by Kiswahili and the indigenous languages which are more popular with students. An interesting fascination with code switching between several indigenous languages, Swahili and English has gripped the students at every level of education in Kenya and is increasingly being viewed as a menace by teachers, especially those teaching languages. The resultant “language” has come to be popularly known as “Sheng”, an acronym for Swahili and English, although in a real sense, it incorporates more languages than these two. While code switching and code mixing is characteristic of any multilingual society, (Whiteley 1974; Schmied 1991), and while it is viewed in other instances in a positive light as a way of helping teachers and students mediate multiple languages in a learning context, it is often regarded by many educators as problematic in formal learning situations (Ndayipfukamiye, 1994). In Kenya, it is not only educators who view it with suspicion. Recently, there have been public outcries at the deteriorating competence of school graduates in their use of English language (Editorial 1993), and some critics have attributed this decline to the growing popularity of “Sheng”. The passion with which “Sheng” is spreading in schools, especially at the secondary level, at the expense of standardized English and Kiswahili, makes it appear like a form of silent rebellion by learners against an education policy which is intolerant of their multilingual backgrounds and which ignores the reality of their day to day experiences. What then is the role of a classroom teacher operating within such a complex language environment? With little help from print and electronic tools for literacy, and in a society which must rely on the teacher as the strongest factor in the education of children, the teacher becomes a central figure in dissemination of the curriculum. Teachers act as direct links between students and school literacy and therefore influence the students’ psychological, intellectual and social world in their role as curriculum implementers and evaluators. In a study on language attitudes in Africa, “ego-satisfying instrumental potentialities of European Languages” was seen as a major reason why many people would prefer a foreign language to a local language (Adegbija, 1994). Teachers themselves reinforce this attitude whenever they judge a students’ intellectual worth merely by the students’ level of the mastery of English language and are intolerant of those who lack proficiency in the language. They inadvertently reinforce the idea of the inferiority of indigenous languages and the superiority of English language, an

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idea already propagated in the print and media market in history books by colonial authors, images from Hollywood, not to mention the bestselling novels based on values of the West. When teachers fail to challenge such attitudes, and even worse, embody them, they legitimize the conviction that social order, curriculum policies and practices are natural and cannot be questioned. Teachers need to critically examine the assumptions embedded in curriculum practices and together with students adopt a reflective inquiry into the nature, structure, intentions of the school curriculum. Maxine Greene, in Beyer (1988) observes: It is not that teachers consciously mystify or deliberately concoct the positive images that deflect critical thought…often submerged in the bureaucracies for which they work they simply accede to what is taken for granted…they are likely to present the world around as given, probably unchangeable and predefined.

Critical pedagogy promotes the critical understanding and examination of assumptions that undergird curriculum, its theory, design and practice. Both teachers and students are encouraged to interact with the curriculum, constantly interpreting it to suit their particular contexts. Kincheloe (1993) argues that “knowledge is created when teachers and students confront a contradiction, when students encounter a dangerous memory, when teacher-presented information collides with student experience, or when student-presented information collides with teacher experience.” Rather than present the curriculum as stable and unquestionable, teachers should use the contradictions embedded in a curriculum to lead students to a greater understanding of the complexities and interconnectedness of life at local and global levels. To a critically reflective teacher, the examination of the language situation in Kenya can present a great pedagogical opportunity from which students can benefit. According to those in support of progressive teacher education, teachers “respect the educands, and therefore never manipulate them” and also the progressive educator “never conceals, crushes, or hinders the development of the educand’s thinking” (Freire 1997). The progressive school of thought urges teachers to understand and address the complexity of their role as teachers. Kincheloe (1993) argues for post-formal thinking in teachers that will “begin to uncover the hidden ways ideology shapes the questions that underlie (their) classrooms.” In this regard then, teachers teaching in a multilingual environment where the privileged language


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has also been historically used to disempower the educands cannot shy away from facing head on, the contradictions that exist in such a situation. In advancing the argument for indigenous languages as the medium of the curriculum, I am in no way suggesting that English as a language should not be taught in Kenyan schools. Freire (1997) warns against over romanticizing the students’ language and hence discouraging them from acquiring multiple discourses. Rather, I seek to underline the need to critically examine the assumptions and implications inherent in the choice of English as the privileged language in the school curriculum and for teachers to be sensitive to the language maze that students have to contend with before they can even begin to learn the subject content. Teachers should foremost demystify English as a privileged language, the only language of literacy and consequently of power. To achieve this, all teachers need to be well prepared to speak and to teach in Kiswahili and to have a working understanding of whatever other community languages are used by the students they teach. Students must be made to feel and understand that any language including their own has as much capability for expression as English. Above all, teachers must not punish students for using their own languages in the school. Students’ linguistic competencies including code-switching should be treated as pedagogical resources in both spoken and written contexts. More emphasis should be laid on students’ understanding of subject content rather than on flawless mastery of the language. As curriculum designers, implementers and examiners, teachers should emphasize the content and methodology that would speak to the learner’s environment. For instance, a teacher of English should move away from obsessing over the technical aspects of grammar to an emphasis on the creativity of ideas expressed in student created texts. Conclusion The choice of the language of literacy in Kenya has to be understood within a wider framework in which history of colonial domination, various aspects of neocolonialism, the role of political leadership and economic underdevelopment are so intricately intertwined that a modification in language policy would contribute little to a more comprehensive socio-economic and political change. A thorough analysis of the school language policy will require an honest elucidation of the vision of development embedded in the purposes of education in general. Sustainable language and curricular reforms will force Kenyans to examine their nation’s role in the global culture and

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economy. Of course, they may find that their education system is founded on a base that is contradictory to the values that most Kenyans want to preserve as a people. In which case they should earnestly embark on what Kunnie (1995) has referred to as “educational decolonization.” He sees this process resulting in an education system that is rooted in indigenous African history and experience where African languages constitute a critical component. The reasons normally advanced to reject the choice of an African language as the official language or the language of school literacy include: it will undermine unity; it is expensive to implement or it is unfit in an international scientific and technological world. Such arguments are smoke-screens that obscure the real ideological issues and the economic predicament that Kenya, like every economically developing nation, is faced with. Coupled with this is the misleading assumption that choice of language of literacy is a question of either/or between an indigenous language and a European language. Rajabu & Ngonyani (1994) argue that such “conspicuous polarity” need not exist, as two languages could both function effectively in schools. In this context it is important to note that if all the efforts that have been made to enhance the official status of English in the government and the schools could be directed to indigenous languages, these languages will be in better standing than they are today. Examples abound of African countries like Tanzania, Somalia, and more recently, South Africa, where indigenous languages have been employed as the languages of literacy in schools. The reluctance to adopt indigenous languages as the medium of school literacy in Kenya must be seen as being based mainly on economic and ideological considerations, and this must be confronted with honesty by policy makers. They should be committed to a move to adopt Kiswahili as the linguistic medium of the curriculum, a move that would call for change in the model of development through long-term radical curriculum innovations which although expensive would produce graduates equipped with the ability, in the words of Freire (1987) to not only read the word but also the world in which they live. References Asante, M.K. (1990). Kemet, afrocentricity and knowledge. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, Inc. Auther, J. (1994). English in Botswana primary classrooms: Functions and constrains. In: C.M.Rubagumya (Ed.), Teaching and researching in African classrooms. Bridgend, Great Britain: WBC. Ltd.


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Beyer, L.E. (1988). Knowing and acting: Inquiry, ideology and educational studies. East Sussex, UK: The Falmer Press Bokamba, E.G. (1995). The politics of language planning in Africa: Critical issues for the 21st century. In M.Putz. (Ed.), Discrimination through language in Africa? Perspectives on the Namibia experience. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co. Bokamba, E. & Tlou, Josiah S. (1977). The consequences of language policies of African states vis-a-vis education. In P.A.Kotey, & Haig Der-Houssikian (Eds.), Language and linguistic problems in Africa. Columbia, SC: Hornbeam Press, 35–53. Editorial: An issue of great concern to the public. (1993, June 6). The Sunday Nation, p. 2. Eshiwani, G.S. (1993). Education in Kenya since Independence. Nairobi, Kenya: East African Publishers Limited. Freire, P. (Ed.). (1997). Mentoring the Mentor: A critical dialogue with Paulo Freire. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, Inc. Freire, P. & D.Macedo. (1987). Literacy: Reading the word and the world. South Ardley: Bergin and Garvey. Heine, B. (1990). Language policy in Africa. In B.Weinstein (Ed.), Language policy and political development. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Jobe, A. (1995). Multilingualism and the language learning in the African context: The case of the Gambian child. In African Language Project: African Language Studies in Transition. University of Maryland Eastern Shore Press. Kincheloe, J.L. (1993). Toward a critical politics of teacher thinking: Mapping the postmodern. Connecticut: Bergin & Garvey. Kunnie, J. (1995). Teaching African languages for cultural decolonization. African Language Project: African Language Studies in Transition. University of Maryland Eastern Shore. Mateene, K. (1980). Failure in the obligatory use of European languages in Africa and the advantages of policy of linguistic independence. In Mateene, Kahombo and J.Kalema (Eds), Reconsideration of African linguistic policies. Kampala: OAU/BIL Publication, (3), 11–41. Mazrui, A.M. & I.N.Shariff. (1994). The Swahili: Idiom and identity of an African people. NJ: Africa World Press. Mbuyi, D.M. (1987). Beyond policy and language choice: An analysis of texts in four instructional contexts in East Africa. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers.

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Mwansoko, H. (1994). The post-primary Swahilization scheme in Tanzania: From debate to struggle. In C.M.Rubagumya (Ed.), Teaching and researching in African classrooms. Bridgend, Great Britain: WBC. Ltd. Ndayipfukamiye, L. (1994). Code-switching in Burundi primary classrooms. In C.M.Rubagumya (Ed.), Teaching and researching in African classrooms. Bridgend, Great Britain: WBC. Ltd. Ngugi, wa Thiong’o. (1986). Decolonizing the mind: The Politics of language in African literature. London: Heinemann. Ondiek, P.E. (1986). Curriculum development: Alternatives in educational theory and practice. Kisumu, Kenya: Lake Publishers. Putz, M. (Ed.) (1995). Discrimination through language in Africa?: Perspectives on the Namimbia experience. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co. Rajabu, R. & Ngonyani, D. (1994). Language policy in Tanzania and the hidden agenda. In C.M.Rubagumya (Ed.), Teaching and researching in African classrooms. Bridgend, Great Britain: WBC. Ltd. Samper, D.A. (1997). “Love, peace, and unity”: Romantic nationalism and the role of oral literature in Kenyan secondary schools. Folklore Forum: Folklore and Instruction in Africa, 28 (1):29–47. Schmied, J.J. (1991). English in Africa: An introduction. London: Longman. Scotton, C.M. (1990). Elite closure as boundary maintenance: The case of Africa. In B.Weinstein, (Ed.). Language policy and political development. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Semali, L. & Stambach, A. (1997). Cultural identity in the African context: Indigenous education and curriculum in East Africa. Folklore Forum: Folklore and Instruction in Africa. Vol. 28 (1):3–27) Shiundu, J.S. & Omulando, S.J. (1992). Curriculum: Theory and practice in Kenya. Nairobi: OUP. Whiteley, W.H. (1974). Language in Kenya. Nairobi: OUP.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Indigenous Knowledge Systems for an Alternative Culture in Science: The Role of Nutritionists in Africa Robert K.N.Mwadime Introduction Some of us in Africa may not understand the antagonism in education those who went to school 30 years ago had to face. On one hand, the elders in their villages encouraged and taught them to look from within the communities for solutions to problems that were endemic among them. They lived in societies where the knowledge of elders, the herbalists, the craftsmen, the birth attendants, and others were the “fuel” of the community, and, from these indigenous institutions they learnt by doing (or in real life) that which was essential for survival. On the other hand, the teaching systems inherited from the preindependence periods were detached from their daily lives, and destroyed their cultural, social, and ecological roots. They were based on rote memorization and regurgitation and had low retention rate. Very little was done to raise awareness of the importance of local resources, local histories, values, and indigenous modes of production and management. Nyerere (1967) noted this devaluation of traditional authority and in his book Education for Self-Reliance warned of what is evident now, 30 years later. Policies and programs implemented by African governments have brought community members to believe that their traditional indigenous knowledge or initiatives are primitive relative to those of the educated in “formal education”. Small-scale cultivators (who use local knowledge and methods) are officially referred to as “peasants”, as opposed to “farmers” (who use chemical fertilizers and produce crops for official markets), and the indigenous institutions have been weakened; women’s economic and social power

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has weakened. The process of creation of new knowledge was cut and most of the knowledge that existed has eroded or degraded. Unfortunately, rarely do the African scientists, create new knowledge that is adaptive to the local situations or that which produces sustainable solutions to our daily lives. This is because we use “models” and “frameworks” of knowledge generated from elsewhere and rarely examine their relevance to our context of history, ecology, culture, political systems, and economic resources. However, with the present crisis in food production in Africa, there is a clear and apparent need to “build” a different culture in education and policy. A culture that will enhance the generation of knowledge that is relevant and applicable to our situations and one of finding solutions among ourselves. This calls for re-investing in the potential of indigenous knowledge and initiatives in seeking solutions. The calls are to deconstruct the current “education systems” and reconstruct them to include local knowledge systems and to bring the “farmer” (together with the African scholar) back into the knowledge generation systems (Chambers, 1983; Chambers et al., 1989). This reconstructive task entails alternative sources of knowledge, different operational frameworks, and alternative methodologies. It means redefining our education tools, the content, and context. The orientation places value on ideas of the “uneducated” and also on re-orienting the perceptions of the “educated” (in modern education) and on the role of “outsiders”1 in development vis á vis that of the locals. I identify three factors that are propelling this change of direction: (i) the lessons learned form the failure and inadequacy of “formal systems” to address problems in rural areas, especially in the fields of agriculture and environment; (ii) the resistance among peasants against “formal science” and development approaches; (iii) the support of international academic and development community. Failure of “Formal Knowledge Systems” Where IK had Long Succeeded It is now a known fact that wherever development programs have imposed “outsider” knowledge without regard to local initiatives, there have been detrimental consequences on agriculture, the environment, the health status, and on urbanization settlements. The sustainability of environmental and agricultural systems resulting from indigenous systems and the degradation of the systems resulting from our “formal knowledge” systems has been demonstrated. The most important examples are the effects of the green revolution in Asia and Africa.

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While in some places it succeeded (especially if it was also the same place where the technology was developed), in other places it failed (where farmers had differing needs, values, and constraints to those where the technology had been developed). In Africa, in particular, in times of stress (like droughts or government economic turmoil), the success of the “new” technologies was measured. In a short time it was discovered that the new varieties introduced in an effort to increase yields and boost export came with them new pests, declined soil fertility (as a result of extensive “exotic” soil management techniques); crop diseases multiplied, leading to widespread need for pesticides and fertilizers, previously unknown in most rural areas. Veterinary services among nomads increased conflicts and gap between the poor and rich, as the medicine and services were only accessible to the rich large “farmers”. On the other hand, the indigenous processing methods and indigenous foods are proving more relevant in the alleviation of hunger in most of Africa. While working among farmers, Richards (1985) in Sierra Leone, Warren (1992) in Nigeria, Angura (1996) in Uganda, and Buerma (1990) in Kenya, found that they were able to classify soils, distinguish crops, or classify children’s diseases. We have also increasingly found that when domesticated cultivars have failed because of drought, many edible, indigenous, non-domesticated species have survived and provided alternative food sources. Increasing Resistance Among “Peasants” Recently, development and research agencies which have ignored the lessons known to the locals have widely experienced resistance. Opposing systems of development are being reported in “modern Africa”—the official system and the people’s system. Because of their inability to address the needs (physical and spiritual) of local communities, formal systems can no longer remain “pure”. Increasingly, the indigenous has made its way into them. We find it in the religious setups, the agricultural sector, marketing, and health systems. Peasants have altered farming systems to fit their needs, abilities, and constraints. After studying a dairy project in rural Kenya, it was commented that “farmers have done their own “project redesign” in order to bring financial risks into line with likely benefits as they perceived them” (Muma, 1994). In parts of Zambia, farmers who had tried the “Green revolution” agricultural package were hurt when inputs were not delivered on time or produce was not picked up, leaving the farmers stranded with rotting grains and heavy debts. Many farmers have

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since rejected the program. When the government of Kenya tried to introduce “fish farming” among coastal fishermen, the project was rejected and failed (Mwadime, 1995). In some other parts of the country, women have resisted working in cash-crop schemes as they discovered they had “fewer resources to fulfill their responsibility of providing the food to nourish their families”. Those of us working or carrying out research in rural areas can sense that people are tired of “people coming from the capital to write” about them and yet they “see no development in the villages”. This resistance is an indication that we need to change our approaches in research and in development. Support of the International Community Although in the beginning of the century the colonial governments and Christian missionaries did much to discredit local knowledge, skills, and beliefs, the international community and local politicians and scientists have done more. Initiatives to be self-reliant in knowledge and approaches to solving our own problems have always been met with hostility. Countries which have tried to retain control over decisionmaking process for national development policies did not get support from the North nor have individuals who sought to give greater legitimacy to the locals fared well against the ruling groups. Examples can be found in the products of the Lagos Plan of Action of 1980s, and the regional grouping of ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) and SADC (Southern African Development Coordination) for improved self-reliance, which are unrealized because of opposition from the North and because of in-fighting in Africa. However, “we breath a different air” now. Democratization in Africa (of course with support of the international community) has brought more power to the local communities, increasing incorporation of local people in decision-making, thus presenting a very important opportunity for district planners to incorporate local knowledge into district plans.2 The use of IK in development programs is being promoted from all sides and supported by many. It is the topic of discussion in government meetings and regional conferences. Regional and international networks and resource centers have increased support of local institutions that raise awareness and the value of IK in development and knowledge creation. Although some may be paying lip-service, there are a multitude of others with good motives. I see it as a window of opportunity which needs to be exploited, especially as it concerns identifying knowledge that guides actions and “favorable behaviors” for improved nutritional security in Africa.


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Food and nutrition scientists from Africa should find their role in the current debates and discussions as an effective step towards influencing food and nutrition policy and programming. How can IK and initiatives and formal education be part of the development in the region? The aim is to develop a system in which each one is complementary to each other, with the strengths of one complementing the weaknesses and limitations of the other. Some of the principal issues that might be the subject of such conversations, as they apply to food and nutrition, are the basis of this chapter and are outlined below. Defining “Indigenous Knowledge” and its Characteristics The central question, of course, is “What is indigenous knowledge?” Before endeavoring to promote IK and initiatives, it is important to have an understanding of what we mean by the terminology. Knowledge is the awareness or understanding of a practical or theoretical thing or fact. It embraces knowledge of tools and techniques for assessment, acquisition, transformation, and utilization of resources in their locality. It is indigenous (or local or tacit or practical) because it differs from the known forms of “formal knowledge” (scientific, Western, modern, colonial) in the contextual sense (as IK is deeply rooted in its environment, history, and new experiences) and its epistemological nature (in the sense that IK is holistic).3 According to essays edited by Warren et al. (1995), IK is the information base for a society which facilitates communication and decision-making. IK is Contextual, It is Holistic The key feature of IK is its inseparability from a particular place in the sense that it is derived from the direct experience of day to day life, which is itself shaped by particular history and characteristics of the place, its people, physical environment, political factors, and the tools (or assets) accessible to them. The knowledge is finely tuned to the daily needs and requirements of the local conditions (physical, environmental, social, cultural, and personal) to the extent that it becomes a way of life (a tradition). To the “knowers” the “known” is more than just knowledge or skill. They see beyond the “known” to its overall purpose and coherence. The knowledge is dynamic just as the experiences and the environment of the “knowers” and their needs are dynamic. They are highly influenced by external systems, and internal creativity. This is more the case in Africa with the increasing literacy rates, exposure to religion, modern health and marketing systems and changing political

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systems and policies. The character of the IK system will, hence, vary between ethnic groups, geographic areas (including urban and rural). Where is the Difference Between IK and Traditions? Because aspects of household food and nutrition are highly influenced by perceptions and behaviors (including intra-household resource allocation), it is important to understand the role of traditions and differentiate between traditions and IK. The Oxford Dictionary defines traditions as “an experience, belief, opinion, or practice handed down by posterity either orally or practically and mainly reflects the usual ways of behaving”. Hence, IK is imbedded in culture, and the traditions of the local people and traditions are shaped by the existing knowledge. For instance, among the Maasai, women “control eating” during the last trimester of pregnancy. While this is referred to as a “tradition”, to the extent that it is a common and normal practice (some people practice it even without understanding its relevance). The origin and the logic is based on a particular “observation” (experiment) or “knowledge” (See Table 1). In most African communities, it is difficult to separate traditions and IK. Both have strong influence on behavior and decision-making. Similarly, one cannot have a good relationship with most populations unless one understands and appreciates their cosmovision and collaborates with the related indigenous institutions. Agriculture, health, and nutrition among most rural communities largely operate within various domains, including spirituality. Hence, it is important that this too be considered in the understanding of IK in Africa. Validity of IK Literature on IK, agricultural development and environmental management in particular, provides abundant evidence of human activities and behaviors that utilize complex but implicit scientific principles. For instance, the principle of classification, that is basic to all science, is part of most IK. It is reported that local communities classify soil types, crop varieties, “food groups”, and child diseases based on a criteria of a number of factors. In coastal Kenya, basic principles of classification of illnesses are known to all traditional healers (Buerma and Baya, 1990). Diseases are classified according to symptoms, treatment, or ascribed causes (including transgression of sexual taboos or disrupted relationships with ancestral spirits). Women in the same community indicated that they could “guess” the illness their children would likely suffer before it actually happened. This they did by observing what other children in the neighborhood were


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complaining of, the time of the year, the behavior of the father, and the relationship of the mother with other relatives in the homestead. The food the child avoided or those it craved were also quoted as symptoms of “hidden” illness. Hence, sometimes if we examine carefully, we may find complex scientific concepts (sometimes not recognized by formal education) underlying local activities and behaviors. However, other times, communities may not have an explanation to some of their habits but they may find one in the scientific community. For instance, although communities may not have a “scientific” reasoning to the annual feasting and ceremonies following the harvests, scientists may find one; i.e., it is a strategy to “minimize losses during storage due to the inefficient storage systems.”4 The crave for pica during pregnancy might find an explanation as “a crave to satisfy the nutrients that are deficit or whose requirement is physiologically elevated”. Many times, however, we lack a logical explanation because we do not give a close probing and follow-up otherwise, many elements of traditional behaviors have a logical explanation. Examples in nutrition are given in Table 1.

Table 1 Example of Nutrition-Related Behaviors and Their Explanation from Community Members

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Because those of us from “outside” may see things only in part, the best way to validate any information is to use local consultants (key informants like elders, midwives, teachers, religious leaders, and traditional healers). In addition, insight into the distribution and use of the knowledge among different groups in the community may be necessary. The widespread use or adoption of IK is by itself a measure of its influence in the community. In any case, failure of a certain IK to meet “our understanding” should not be a judge of its relevance. Thus, instead of emphasizing on the validity of IK, I would recommend that we develop tools to identify the necessity and discretion of the knowledge for the purpose of solving our food and nutrition problems. Identifying Necessary and Discretionary Knowledge IK is the basis for decision making and, in the traditional societies, it is the content of education. In traditional communities, three forms of knowledge can be identified: (1) knowledge that can be held by all or most individuals in a specific locality, e.g., knowledge on postharvest pest control and the kinds of wild fruits and vegetables that are edible; (2) knowledge which belongs only or mainly to a certain group or clan or tribe, e.g., the most appropriate fishing methods at different times of the year, the best grazing lands for different purposes, classification of child diseases; (3) specialized knowledge which is technical, and skilled persons have it, e.g., knowledge held by medicine man/herbalist, birth attendants, blacksmiths, religious leaders. Life in the villages is dominated by these knowledge and the related institutions, as they seek to solve life threatening problems and also to meet social obligations and expectations. Whether IK is necessary or discretionary is based on customs and habits as well as physiological criteria (Figure 1). If knowledge is known to certify certain physiological survival needs, then it may be considered necessary; if knowledge has been based on custom and habits but does not necessary certify any physiological needs, then it is discretionary. To the villagers, any knowledge that satisfies any physiological needs as well as customs and habits is absolutely necessary (Mararike, 1996). Among the Maasai, the knowledge that some leaves and grasses are useful for fattening livestock, and others for increasing milk yields, certify physiological needs; more important is the fact that the use of this knowledge may also operate within traditional and spiritual domains; i.e., that some of the leaves (additives) are found in sacred forests.


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However, what is discretionary to one group might not be to another. Besides, IK’s dynamisity implies that what is necessary today might not be tomorrow. For instance, long before the discovery of chloroquine as a treatment of malaria, the Maasai used the barks of esumeita and oiti or the roots of olkinyei tree to cure malaria (Kipuri, 1996). With malarial drugs in stores, this knowledge might not be absolutely necessary today. Hence, most of IK, which local people had accumulated over many years, may no longer be needed by the present generation. “Why should we need the crowing of the cock to tell us the time when all of us have watches round our wrists?” Figure 1 Classification of Indigenous Knowledge by its Physiological and Cultural/Traditional Need

At any given point in time, the existing IK only presents a “best estimate” of the facts for decision making, and these are modified according to current evidence and experience. Thus, we should not assume that all indigenous knowledge is correct or necessary in all cases. It should be adapted to the practices and the social reality of today. Focusing on elements which build on current practices and beliefs, especially those which are widespread, may be more successful than approaches that try to re-introduce “old” traditional practices that are no longer necessary.

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Identify Uses of IK in Nutritional Sciences As stated earlier, to the people in the villages, IK is the basis for decision making in solving life problems and thus our interest in IK should be based on solving food and nutrition problems, in the community. Classifying diseases can be useful if is used for the management and prevention of the diseases; the classification of food crop varieties can be useful for their production (time for sowing, water and labor requirement, and duration in the farm) and also their use (when harvested relative to other crops and with what other foods it is eaten). There are two aspects in which IK can be used: (i) working with existing IK; and (ii) creating new IK. Working with Existing IK Normally, IK was encoded in proverbs, stories, riddles, and songs. Through these means, the knowledge was taught to children and others (e.g. newlyweds) through the various institutions that characterize the particular knowledge. These forms of knowledge have successfully been used in food and nutritional programming; as in management of irrigation schemes, advancement of local weaning foods, traditional birth attendants, and management of natural systems. Some other examples are given in Table 2. Table 2 Examples of Indigenous Interventions to Different Problems in the Communities


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To clearly define these knowledges and understand the process and the social context in which they are generated and transmitted, and their effectiveness in food and nutritional programming, as outsiders, we need to have direct contact with the “knower” (a farmer, a villager, a mechanic, herbalist, a traditional birth attendant, etc.) and learn from them. To achieve better nutritional status and optimal control of the available resources in rural areas of sub-Saharan Africa today, it may be necessary, because of the rapid changes occurring in these areas, for nutritionists to complement the knowledge of local people. Chambers notes that “rural people’s knowledge and scientific knowledge should be complementary (not substitutional) in their strengths and weaknesses. Combined they may achieve what neither would alone” (Chambers, 1983:73). Nevertheless, there is clear need for discriminating merger of IK with scientific academic knowledge. As shown in Figure 2, a practicing community nutritionist should be able to work an interface between the two sources of knowledge, considering the resources and other knowledge accessible to the community. The two systems are complementary only in the sense that each has its own strengths and limitations. Figure 2 Interaction of Indigenous and Scientific Knowledge to Cause Action for Improved Nutrition

As shown in Table 3, formal knowledge may play a major role in explaining some of the indigenous behaviors. The fact that nutritionists (or extensionists) offer farmers scientific or new knowledge is not by itself bad, and most farmers are eager to learn from them, but nutritionists should see themselves as only one source of knowledge among many other possibilities (van’t Hooft, 1995).5 Otherwise the two knowledge systems are clearly different, and their “mix” involves differentiation of resources or inputs needed (one is based on locally available products and the other on manufactured products) and their


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sources (one uses a traditional system of flow of inputs while the other is purely monetary). The objective is to appreciate and learn from one another, whether valid or reliable (in the scientific sense) or not, and work together in the process of finding a new (optimum) balance between the indigenous and scientific knowledges in the struggle against hunger and malnutrition. Creation of New IK With the rapid changes occurring among locals, most indigenous knowledge are not adaptive to local situations and new knowledge has to be generated in line with today’s reality and systems. There are always people who continuously produce and reproduce a spectacle of an alternative array of possibilities. We need to advance our understanding of the creation and flow of IK in local communities in an effort to facilitate the generation of local solutions to local problems; i.e., what Cernea (1995) refers to as “knowledge for action”. Knowledge generation often draws on both external knowledge and local technologies and methods of experimentation. A newly married woman may come with new herbs for preserving cereals which the neighbors may adopt, but modify the use according to their needs and values. Table 3 Identifying Scientific Explanation to Indigenous behaviors

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Many times, the perceived problems/constraints and the environment are the enabling factors to the generation of IK. After every drought, farmers in Mwingi district in Kenya have tried to plant seeds from the relief food. Inaccessibility to their traditional seeds and the desire to “keep the food among them” were the driving force. Continuously, locals (re)invent technologies useful for their daily needs and production systems. They should be supported and given opportunities to experiment and adopt what is most appropriate for themselves. As stated above, the nutritionist should see themselves as one source of information which, together with available resources, the experience of the farmers, the effect of exposure to formal education, extension services from other sectors, and the marketing systems and the changing environment (see Figure 3), will help households generate the most appropriate knowledge to solve their food and nutrition problems. Figure 3 Factors in the Generation of New Indigenous Knowledge

In Programming IK has been, and can be, used in (i) problem identification, prioritization, (perceived) causes of the problem(s); (ii) the resources available in the community; (iii) alternative solutions to common problems and a source of alternative technology; (iv) management and implementation of programs; and (v) monitoring and evaluation.

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Identification of Problem and its Causes Local communities know and understand their problems much more than “outsiders”. The definition and the causes of a problem as understood by the community, and the driving force to their behavior is very important to the success of any intervention program. For instance, in many communities in Eastern and Southern Africa, kwashiorkor is a well known condition which results from deficient intake of proteins. Many times this condition has a local name which is associated with the perceived causes, such as “sexual unfaithfulness” of the parents or an “evil eye” of a relative or the “gluttony of the mother during pregnancy.” While the knowledge of the problem may be widespread, most times its diagnosis may lie with a few in the community. The traditional healer may diagnose kwashiorkor and make a prescription, the “rain maker” may explain the inadequacy in rainfall the previous season, the birth attendant may give an explanation to maternal deaths. Although many times the causes may finally be linked to the “spiritual”, most people, even the educated, hold onto them (Mwadime, 1995). A practicing nutritionist should be able to work with locals to identify the use of such an IK. Understanding the linkages between the perceptions of the communities and the management of the severe malnutrition can help plan appropriate strategies. In fact, the nutritionist may discover that accessibility to food for the child is not the (only) root cause of malnutrition in most cases (it may be the immediate). The root causes may be inadequate care of the child (resulting from mother’s depression from poor relationships) or “poor eating by the child” (resulting from the tensions in the household) or inaccessibility of the resources to access food and health-care (as a result of father’s recent behaviors). And as can be seen in the preceding section, addressing the root problem with the community calls for a careful analysis of the problem using IK and scientific knowledge. Solutions to Problems and a Source of Alternative Technology For ages, the locals have lived with different problems in their communities and they have developed ways of solving or managing the problems. We should work with communities to see if the food and nutrition problems can be addressed with these approaches. However, it might be that it is impossible to rely solely on IK for nutrition programming. For instance, under changing conditions of population growth, limited access to land in rural areas, environmental degradation, changing lifestyles and social relationships, reduced employment and liberalized


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marketing, the nature of the problems have changed. Communities may need to generate more efficient ways of handling the problems. Identification of Resources It is important that resources to address food and nutrition problems be identified with the community, as they have to be useable by the implementers of the programs. Agricultural programs have discovered that locals know the best land for cultivation of different crops, or for grazing. They have used names of specific areas to indicate the resource available in an area and also the nature or characteristic of those resources, i.e., maji ya chumvi, implying that the waters are “bitter,” or gabtua, implying the “place is not habitable.” Local people know the talents among them (best composers of songs, best leaders, trust-worthy persons). They know remedies for “simple” child illnesses like coughs, respiratory infection, constipation, worms, and wounds. In a project aimed at the alleviation of micronutrient deficiency, I found that women could identify wild edible fruits and vegetables which had been used to address Vitamin A deficiency, manifested in night-blindness. Among the Hausa in northern Nigeria (and southern Niger), more than 80 species of wild edible plants were identified in a cross-sectional survey (Humphry et al., 1993). In many parts of Africa, when domesticated cultivars have failed, because of drought, many edible, indigenous, non-domesticated species have survived and provided alternative food sources. In one part of Taita in Kenya, over 80% of the households used one or another indigenous species for different purposes ranging from vegetables (amaranthus), fruits (e.g., tasmania tree or Tamarindus indica), nuts/seeds (Cenchrus biflorus), root/tuber (e.g., maginya or Boraossus aethiopum), spices (e.g. marowa or Parhia biglobosa), or sauce thickeners (leaves of baobab tree or Adansonia digitata). Management and Implementation of Programs There is definitely a need to use local communities to manage their programs, and hence a need to gain more insight into traditional management systems and coping strategies, institutions, and their applicability in nutrition planning under current circumstances. Indigenous management systems have widely been used in management of natural resources like forests, water points, and coastal heritage. Although many indigenous management systems are useful in management of local resources, my experience is that some of them do not have nutrition security as their objective, as many do not have

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the welfare of the poorest as their target. Many times their main objective is the prevention of conflicts among different groups (e.g., the rich and the poor, women and men or age groups, farmers and herders). As such, some groups benefitted more from communal systems or in the possession of some knowledge than others. While imbalances (economic especially) are often offset by cyclic intervals of hunger (drought, battles, or rustling) or illnesses (epidemics), nowadays accessibility to “more effective” technology (e.g., immunization of cattle, building private dams, refrigerator) benefits more the rich than the poorer groups (who have to buy the products of the rich; i.e., water, milk, vegetables). The use of these systems hence calls for careful examination and, where needed, the set-up of systems to protect the vulnerable. Monitoring and Evaluation Indigenous knowledge has been used for monitoring and evaluation of food and nutrition programs. Locals can be useful not only in the identification of the most appropriate indicators but also in the process of monitoring and evaluation. Environmental indicators have been used for monitoring food security (Mwadime, 1995), while combinations of a number of indicators have been used for measuring household food security situations in rural communities (Mwadime and Kaai, n.p). Sensitization, Education, and Training The most important step in the promotion of IK is to sensitize academics and planners, and getting them to respect approaches and findings of studies that take into account social and cultural factors and those that are based on IK. Local “elites” are normally unsupportive (and sometimes ignorant) of IK because of the education system they went through. In his book, Rural development: Putting the last first, Robert Chambers (1983) details a wide range of practical steps—learning reversals—that can be taken by today’s scientists to learn how to “think from below.” In our context, IK will be more useful and find more respect and acceptance if it is part of the formal education systems in Africa. We should see education as Nyerere defined: “the transmission of the accumulated wisdom and knowledge of a society from one generation to another as a means of preparing the younger generation for their future role in the society and their effective participation in its maintenance and development” (Nyerere, 1967). Positive changes


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have occurred in some countries in the region, where the primary school curriculums have changed to include local history and culture. In Kenya, the current primary school curriculum includes the history, principles, and concepts of practices, tools, and technology of communities from within the country and from other African societies. However, the system is still beset by undue reliance on facts, rote memorization, and regurgitation. Hence, the deconstructive task should involve an overview of the past and current approaches to education and training, research, and programming. The reconstructive task will entail development of new teaching methods, research methodology, and the documentation and presentation of the knowledge. The knowledge and its sources, however, are eroding at a very high rate. It is necessary to document the very complex methodologies of knowledge generation and flow, which most of us know very little about. This way, successful “stories” can be shared, the traditional food processing methods reported among different tribes in Kenya can be made available to the staff and students in the departments of food technology, and also to extension agents in the Ministries of Health and to those in other universities in other parts of the world. However, what exactly has to be reported and the mode of reporting should be determined by the innovators of the knowledge, particularly if it involves a technology or if it is an invention like the different herbs or plants used to manage different diseases, or the ways of food preservation or processing. However, even with the documentation of these knowledge, the set-ups in the academic institutions have to change to encourage close contact and exchanges with the generators of the IK. This is because the process of IK generation and use, the close linkage between the knowledge, the knower, and the context, are very important. Besides, text books can only give us ideas, starting points, the methodologies of understanding and collecting these information, and how to incorporate it into programming and policy. Of importance is also the need to provide guidelines on how IK can be recorded and how it can be used in policy, planning, programming, and extension. Risks Associated with IK As IK becomes popular in development strategies and research/ education, I see a number of risks as it relates to food and nutrition sciences and programming that need to be raised.

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Risk of Specialization “Scientists” emphasize the unidimensional (or singular) identities of life and may not be interested in understanding the holistic nature of social life or the process in which the behaviors come to being. As specialists in their fields, they seek information rather than knowledge. The soil scientists seek for soil definition by the locals (IK in soil science), the ecologists seek for local management of resources (IK in resource management), and the botanists in the classification of plants (IK in herbs and medicinal plants). The information is sought from the “specialists” among the “knowers”. The parts and pieces (or components) are then analyzed in isolation of each other, normally, with the hope to reconstruct the system from the interpretation of the parts. However, experience has taught us that many times we understand the systems only in part and are likely to misinterpret or misuse the IK collected this way. There is need to avoid making IK a specialty, a source of information, which in the long-run does not benefit economically and politically marginalized people. Risk of “the Limited Scientists” Related to the above point, the proponents of IK are already becoming biased to those elements that yield to the methodologies, analysis techniques and theories, and to pre-conceived solutions that are familiar. If an NGO defines poverty from income/wealth, the solutions will imply creating means or ways of generating income/wealth for those defined as poor. If they define it from the food point of view, so shall the solutions be related to food. This bias is related to our current research methodologies and set-ups in our institutions of higher learning, which are not so much tuned to understanding the production of the local knowledge but in the “information” itself. The formal scientist has to be provided with the tools and means to work within this new system. Risk of “the Transferred IK” Because of its nature and process of creation, IK has the highest risk of being misused, especially in programming. IK at a certain moment might be less effective for the long-term planning. Because of its vulnerability to changes, it would be useful in the short-term or for continual planning and management of programs. If, for example, the transfer of the IK to another area does compromise the traditional knowledge or certain indigenous techniques, this may lead to serious implications or even fatal outcomes.


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There have been occasional reports of deaths and severe abdominal pains following consumption of garri in some urban communities in Nigeria (Aletor, 1993), something that is rare in rural areas. The traditional technology of processing cassava has been modified to suit urban communities (i.e., improved grating of the cassava and use of locally fabricated screw presses to de-water the cassava) but sometimes with insufficient fermentation of cassava, with the resulting garri having high levels of residual poisonous cyanide. If IK is to be used or replicated elsewhere there is need for critical analysis of the situations, relevance, adequacy, and applicability, and the implications for any misuse should be understood. Risk of Competition Finally, IK as promoted by its advocates and the related institutions will face competition from more acceptable and better financed models promoted by international institutions, bilateral agencies, or multinational companies. Implications for Research and Programming Numerous research areas and areas of concern in programming can be identified from the preceding discussion; however, I would like to raise three important areas not so far addressed. 1. With increased proportions of the population living in urban areas, there is need to understand the role of IK in urban areas. Most work on IK is done in rural areas. What indigenous strategies do urbanites use to cope with food and nutritional of health problems? How do they create new knowledge/initiatives to address their problems? Urban people are more individualistic (less social contact), which implies that the experimentation of new ideas will be slower, individualistic, and with limited social relevance. 2. In the past decade, a few conceptual frameworks have been used to plan and implement nutrition programs. The most common is the UNICEF conceptual framework for a Nutrition Strategy for the 1990s, which is increasingly being adopted by governmental and non-governmental organizations. While this framework is based on scientific reasoning, the question is whether indigenous knowledge and systems for solving food and nutritional problems also operate within such a framework. There is need to find ways to synchronize indigenous nutrition management systems and “operational conceptual frameworks”.

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3. Project proposals prepared by local peoples, on the basis of their IK, should be accorded full legitimacy, both in policy decisions affecting their social life, land, resources, and communities, and funding of projects. Endnotes 1. Outsiders implies anyone who is not from the community of interest (i.e. including country “elites”). 2. This is because, according to the policy, the planning process is supposed to begin from the most local level before it is pushed upwards to the district. 3. The term “indigenous” was coined by Michael Warren and Robert Chambers (and their groups) independent of one another in 1980. 4. Communities may indicate it is “a time with the least work”, “the climate is best” and/or “there is reason to celebrate after one’s work”. 5. In reality, normally, extensionists are automatically viewed to have superior knowledge than farmers. References Aletor, V.A. (1993). Cyanide in garri. Distribution of total, bound and free hydrocyanic acid in commercial garri, and the effect of fermentation time on residual cyanide content. International Journal of Food Sciences and Nutrition. Vol. 44 (4):281–288. Angura T.O. 1996. Grassroot indicators among the Langi and theirimportance to district and national planning. In H.Hambly and T. O.Angura (Eds). Grassroots indicators for desertification: Experiences and perspectives from eastern and southern Africa. IDRC: Canada. Buerma J.T. and Baya M.S. (1990). Maternal and child health in an ethnomedical perspective: Traditional and modern medicine in coastal Kenya. Health Policy and Planning, 5 (4):347–357. Cernea M. (1995). Social organization and development anthropology, (Malinowski Award Lecture) Human Organization 54 (3):340–352. Chambers R. (1983). Rural development: Putting the last first. New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.


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Chambers R.A. Pacey and L.A.Thrupp (Eds.), (1989). Farmer first: Farmer innovation and agricultural research. London: Intermediate Technology Publications. Humphry C.M., M.S.Clegg, C.L.Keen and L.E.Grivetti (1993). Food diversity and drought survival. The Hausa example. International Journal of Food Science and Nutrition. 44 (1):1–16. Kipuri N. (1996). Pastoral Maasai grassroots indicators for sustainable resource management. In H.Hambly and T.O.Angura (Eds). Grassroots indicators for desertification: Experiences and perspectives from Eastern and Southern Africa. IDRC: Canada. Mararike C.G. (1996). The use of trees, birds and animal behavior as measures of environmental change by the Shona people of Zimbabwe. In H.Hambly and T.O.Angura (Eds). Grassroots indicators for desertification: Experiences and perspectives from Eastern and Southern Africa. IDRC: Canada. Muma M.A. (1994). Farmers’ criteria for assessing zero grazing innovation in dairy production: Case studies in two districts in Kenya. M.Sc (MAKS) Thesis, Wageningen Agricultural University, the Netherlands. Mwadime R.K.N. (1995). Why community based nutrition rehabilitation is the way to follow: Baseline report for Kwale and Kilifi District, Kenya. Nairobi, Kenya: Applied Nutrition Program/Ministry of Culture and Social Services. Mwadime R.K.N. and S.Kaai (n.p.) Indigenous knowledge for monitoring household food security in agricultural communities: A case study from Kenya. Nyerere J.K. 1967. Education for self-reliance. Dar-Es-Salaam: Government Press. Richards P. (1985). Indigenous agricultural revolution: Ecology and food production in West Africa. London: Hutchinson. Van’t Hooft K. (1995). Interface between local knowledge and Western scientific knowledge in extensive livestock keeping. M.Sc. thesis, MAKS, Wageningen Agricultural University, Netherlands. Warren D.M. (1992). A preliminary analysis of indigenous soil classification and management in four ecozones of Nigeria. Ibadan: International Institute of Tropical Agriculture and the African Resource Center for Indigenous Knowledge. Warren, D.M., L.J.Slikkerveer and D.Brokensha, (Eds.), (1995). The cultural dimension of development: indigenous knowledge systems. London: Intermediate Technology Publications.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Agricultural Extension Education and the Transfer of Knowledge in an Egyptian Oasis Anne M.Parrish Analyses of Egyptian production of commodities for human consumption have primarily been focused upon communities along the Nile Valley, the Delta region, or reclaimed land projects near Cairo. Because of this, the oasian agricultural communities have been virtually ignored. Additionally, much of the literature in the genre of development has concentrated upon the introduction, implementation, and acceptance of the Western model of agricultural technologies. Most researchers choose to either not include, or only mention in passing, the empirical scope of indigenous knowledge. This omission may have created the impression for some readers that the people had no prior technical knowledge, and which is often ignored, misunderstood, or considered inferior by many educators, developers, and change agents. Nagel (1961) makes a distinction between indigenous scientific knowledge and Western scientific knowledge by describing the former as “idiographic”, the unique knowledge of substantive content. These types of knowledge would include among many others, humoral systems, famine strategies, social organization, agroforestry, or pest management. Western scientific knowledge is categorized as “nomothetic”, which Nagel defines as generalized kinds of knowledge. Educators and change agents obtain this knowledge through structured paradigms as set forth by established institutions. Idiographic knowledge is acquired through the processes of traditional experiences. Anthropologists and other scientists have made significant contributions towards understanding these systems of knowledge. One way this has been done is through the documentation of indigenous knowledge and practices (Warren et al., 1995). One purpose of the following chapter is to therefore add to this corpus of knowledge by

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documenting, and thereby preserving, one specific set of indigenous post-harvest strategies developed by farmers in the Egyptian Western Desert. The second purpose is to examine the effectiveness of the Western scientifically influenced Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture Extension education program, and third, to compare both forms of integrated pest management knowledge and illustrate how they could be combined to create a safe and effective pest management program. The Western Desert oases have only recently been subject to intensive agricultural development; therefore, many of the traditional practices for post-harvest technologies and pest management are still either known or used, and included within this body of knowledge, are the local-level strategies of an integrated pest management (IPM) program. An IPM program may be defined as “an ecological approach to pest management in which all available necessary techniques are consolidated into a unified program so that pest populations can be managed in such a manner that economic damage is avoided and adverse side effects are minimized” (Cink and Harein, 1989). The research site of El Dakhla Oasis in the Western Desert was selected as a location to determine what methods were used by developers for the introduction of new pest management practices, and to test a hypothesis regarding the adoption of introduced technologies. Based upon others who have found that socioeconomic variables such as land holdings, education, and age are correlated to adoption of innovations, it was expected that farmers with higher socioeconomic status and formal education would use more introduced pest management practices than farmers with lower socioeconomic status and formal education. The Setting: El Dakhla Oasis El Dakhla is one of five oases located in the Western Desert of Egypt. These oases, once termed the “islands of the blest” by Herodotus in circa 450 B.C., stretch from Siwa in northwestern Egypt, to Bahariya and Farafra in the center, and to El Dakhla and El Kharga, southwest of Assiut. The El Dakhla depression is one of the most arid regions in the Sahara Desert expanse and has an average rainfall of 4 millimeters per year. Relative humidity ranges between 12–50 percent, and temperatures from a potential low of 30° C during the winter, to a summer high of over 50° C. Water for human habitation and irrigation is obtained from the underground Nubian Sandstone aquifer, which flows from the Erdi and Ennedi mountain ranges in the Chad basin up through Egypt, with the water finally surfacing in the oases.

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Archaeological data are absent for early oasian habitation, but recent research indicates Neolithic material from the Western Desert predates the Predynastic remains of the Nile Valley by as much as two or three millennia, and possibly much longer. What is known, however, is that El Dakhla has been an agricultural community since at least the end of the Egyptian Old Kingdom (200 B.C.). It was only after the introduction of the Roman waterwheel (saqiyya) (circa A.D. 30) that agriculture in the oasis began to vertically and horizontally expand because prior to the waterwheel, cultivation was limited by water which flowed from artesian wells. During the 1960s, the government created the Egyptian Desert Development Organization, which included El Kharga, El Dakhla, and Farafra Oases in the Western Desert. In order to reform the agrarian system, increase food production, and to provide security for landless farmers from the Nile region, new wells were dug, tracts of desert land were reclaimed, and settlers were encouraged to migrate to the newly created New Valley Governorate. Although settlers did migrate to El Kharga, no Nile Valley farmers moved to El Dakhla Oasis. The Ministry of Agriculture and Land Reclamation development programs brought many changes to the El Dakhla inhabitants. The traditional subsistence crops of wheat, paddy rice, dates, and animal fodder remained the same, but new technologies and inputs were introduced, including chemical fertilizers, certified seeds, commercial pesticides, mechanization, and diesel irrigation pumps. The newly dug wells allowed for expansion into previously uncultivated desert areas, and for yield increases on pre-existing croplands. Post-Harvest Pests in El Dakhla Although many field pests were identified by the farmers, only two major categories of post-harvest storage pests were cited: sus, which were referred to only as red or black, and feran, which included both rats and mice. Red sus (Tribolium confusum, Tribolium castaneum, Sitophilus granarius, and Lasioderma serricorne) infested rice, wheat, and dried vegetables, while black sus (Bruchidae) were a problem in fava (faba) beans. Rats were responsible for a great amount of destruction and farmers agreed they were a formidable, cunning enemy. Burrows were in fields, irrigation banks, and farmhouse compounds. They fed upon growing crops, commodities in storage, and caused great damage to poultry because they ate eggs and young chicks.

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Of sixty farmers interviewed in regard to pest problems, over onehalf stated rodents were their most serious pest, and approximately onethird stated sus were their major problem (see Table 1). One man stated that although rodents created serious economic losses, “Sus are the most important pest because they eat food; rats eat the green plants.” Almost 80% of the farmers stated rodents were pests in their fields, and onethird reported they were also a problem within the farm compound. Table 1 Farmer Rated Most Serious Economic Pests

Although the Ministry of Agriculture recognized the same important pests, they did not take into consideration the efficacy and importance of indigenous control methods and instead, initiated a top-down introduction of Western pest management. The following two sections describe the traditional methods of commodity storage and protection that were in place prior to, and to a much lessor degree, still present in some forms after the intensive Western-oriented government development and education program. Traditional Storage Technologies Indigenous storage methods were excellent in helping to prevent postharvest infestation, and by far the best and oldest was the practice of burying grain in the sand. Holes were dug approximately one meter deep, the grain placed inside, and then recovered with sand. The sand and solar heat reduced the moisture content of the grain to the point where insect pests were eliminated. Many farmers have been forced to abandon this practice, however, because the ground has become water-saturated from increased irrigation and therefore, the sand was no longer suitable. The most common form of indigenous storage was a granary inside the house. Most had retaining walls to hold grain or separate commodities, and the commodities were stored in bulk, in burlap or cotton bags, pottery or metal containers, or in woven palm frond


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baskets. In addition to grain, food commodities may also have included dried okra, olives, and dried molikiyya (a spinach-like plant), peanuts, dates, or gurgesh (dried bread). Farmers who used pottery jars sometimes sealed the containers with mud to exclude pests. Although the farmers were only aware of the exclusion properties, they did not realize the practice was also efficacious because cereal grains continue to respire carbon dioxide which displaces oxygen; therefore the sealed containers were elementary indigenous forms of fumigation chambers. Some farmers had traditionally built their granaries on the second floor of the farmhouse because they had learned from their own experimentation that potential insect infestation was less because of reduced ground moisture. Others stated they had thoroughly cleaned the room prior to storage, kept it ventilated during storage, and these practices in combination helped to eliminate or reduce insect infestation. Household construction materials were cited as either reducing or exacerbating problems. No consensus was reached, however, because some believed the indigenous mud brick was better for pest control, while others preferred the introduced concrete block and cement. A mud silo (souma) was another type of traditional grain storage. These were built free-standing on the ground in farm courtyards, on threshing floors, or upon the house roofs. Because of increased yields, empty metal drums which were by-products of development, were also used as additional souma(s). Indigenous Pest Management The traditional methods may be divided into four categories; chemical, mechanical, cultural, and biological control. Each of the practices have merit, and if used in combination, would have provided an effective form of indigenous IPM. Chemical Control One method was a form of fumigation, whereby substances were burned in the closed granary prior to placement of commodities. The substances included kerosene, olive or other wood, rice straw, or wood and red peppers combined. If the smoke and heat were sufficiently intense, this practice would probably have been efficacious against certain adult insect forms. Another chemical control was to incorporate ashes, lime, or crushed red peppers into the stored grain. These materials were irritants to

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the insects, plus the ashes and lime acted as desiccants and could have killed the insects through dehydration. The uncultivated desert plant, handel (Citrullus colocynthis), was used for both pest control and medicinal purposes (e.g., arthritis). When used fresh, the gourd-like fruits were halved, and their exposed sides were rubbed along the granary walls. When used dried, the fruits were crushed and mixed in with the stored grain. Farmers stated that four or five handel were sufficient to protect a granary approximately three by twelve meters. One indigenous form of rodent control was a bait preparation made of gypsum and sugar. Rodents are unable to vomit, therefore they could not expel the gypsum once it started to expand in their stomachs and as a result, they died. Mechanical Control One form of mechanical control was to apply coatings of mud to the walls and floors of household granaries prior to each new grain storage season. Sometimes crushed red peppers were added to the mud, and one farmer reported the efficacy of a mixture of ashes, lime, salt, and mud. The mud sealed cracks and crevices that served as pest harborage and farmers who still used this procedure reported they had no serious infestations in storage. Mechanical means for controlling rodents included homemade metal or mud traps. The traps were constructed with hinged doors on one end that were connected to strings tied with pieces of bait. When the rodent pulled on the bait, the pressure caused the door to close. One additional mechanical method was to seal field and farm compound rodent burrow entrances with packed clay. Cultural Control Sunning grain before storage was an ancient Egyptian practice and worked because the heat activated the internal infesting insects and caused them to complete their life cycles before storage. It was also efficacious because it lowered the moisture content of the grain, thereby making it less susceptible to infestation. Because of the increased yields, not many farmers still sunned their grain prior to storage. In order to protect newly planted peanut fields from the nocturnal desert foxes, farmers remained overnight in their fields until the plants had sprouted. Each night to scare the foxes away, farmers would light fires and make loud noises by banging on drums or metal objects.


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At one time malaria was a serious illness in the oasis and a defunct malaria hospital is still located in El Dakhla Oasis. Mosquito vectors of Plasmodium were especially pests for farmers conducting night irrigation, so they rubbed the exposed body parts with lemons or limes as a repellant. Today, in addition to using the citrus fruits, control is also done through the use of larvicide and the “netting” of larvae at critical control points (e.g., irrigation lines). Biological Control Cats, egrets, owls, and desert foxes were cited as forms of biological rodent control. Farmers with cats in the farm compounds stated they had few or no rodent problems. Egrets ate both insect pests and rodents, and were frequently seen poised for action outside rodent burrows. Desert foxes were considered a mixed blessing, however, because they themselves were considered pests of poultry, newly planted peanut fields, and ripening watermelons. Additionally, some farmers either removed or burned vegetation bordering fields which provided rodent harborage. Adoption of Introduced Technologies Although not all introduced pest management technologies had been accepted, adoption of many technologies and the abandonment of traditional practices appears to have been quite substantial. From discussions with sixty farmers, most had exchanged their traditional methods in favor of introduced chemical control. Over 80% responded they were using commercial rodenticide and insecticide instead of traditional pest control methods. By contrast, only 11% of the sample were using traditional rodent control, and fewer than one-fourth were still using traditional insect control. Some, however, were blending forms of both technologies (16%). Ironically, one situation which had caused post-harvest problems for some farmers were the higher yields made possible because of the increased water supply, and some farmers stated they were facing increased post-harvest losses. As a result, storage facilities have been expanded to include metal drums, which were difficult to protect against storage pests without introduced pest control methods because they could not be tightly sealed as the traditional souma(s). Other frequently cited reasons why indigenous pest control practices were no longer used include the following. The traditional methods were regarded by some as “old-fashioned”, commercial pesticides

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were available at little or no cost, and were less labor-intensive. The latter was an important factor because available family farm labor had decreased as the opportunities for off-farm employment had increased as a result of the development project. Prior to government development, very few were employed in non-agricultural work, but by 1991, the national government-formed County Council provided employment for 1189 people and more were to be hired. When civil employment exams were held in 1992, 1300 people took the exam and of these, about 30% were to be offered government employment in various capacities. Government employment for one or more members of the extended households was a desirable diversification strategy for three major reasons: it provided a steady cash flow, improved medical care, and a pension upon retirement. Most farmers interviewed held the perception that pests were more numerous than they had been prior to the development program. They cited a number of reasons for this, including the previously discussed increase in crop yields. Some blamed the commercial pesticides and stated their intensive use had disrupted the “balance of nature”, which allowed the pest populations to multiply faster than the natural predators. Some believed that because farmers now depended upon pesticides for control, they had become lax in other practices, including granary and field foliage sanitation. Others stated “modernization” was partly to blame. Prior to the availability of commercially produced and government subsidized bread, and introduced gas cooking stoves sold through the government store, farmers used to remove dead palm fronds and brush which they were able to use or sell to other villagers for fuel-wood. Many farmers no longer did this because of both the lack of available labor and the necessity (i.e., value) for the fuel-wood. Some farmers stated that because these traditional oasian practices had been abandoned, these areas had become a pest harborage. In spite of the overwhelming acceptance of Western pest management practices, some oasis natives expressed concerns regarding commercial pesticide use, overuse, or misuse. From an ecological and health perspective, there was apprehension about potential deleterious effects of commercial pesticides on the desert environment and human health. Because of this, some had limited their use of commercial pesticides and expressed a need for the development of an environmental safety program.


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Transfer of Knowledge and the Introduction of Innovations The transfer of new technologies by the Ministry of Agriculture Extension Service and Plant Protection Department were greatly facilitated because the oasian indigenous paradigm already included pest awareness and classifications, methods of prevention and control, and the recognition of the results of unchecked pest growth. Most of the farmers interviewed stated they had learned their current pest control methods from the Ministry of Agriculture Extension Service, but some learned both indigenous and introduced methods from traditional sources (i.e., family members and neighbors), and one elderly man who still used traditional methods claimed he was self-taught through experience because “more tears will teach you how to be sad.” One method used by the Ministry of Agriculture to change indigenous practices in pest control and production was through Government demonstration plots. Another was for Ministry of Agriculture personnel to conduct evening training sessions for farmers. Videos were often used, and some were from a popular farmer-oriented national Egyptian television series. This program, Serr el Ard (Secret of the Land), introduced new agricultural technologies and concepts through a highly entertaining comedy format. In order to determine the potential educational effects and change in indigenous methods, discussions were held with farmers regarding their viewing habits of the television program. Of sixty farmers interviewed, the types of technologies changed or learned as a result of watching Serr el Ard, plus the numbers of respondents are as follows: fertilizers (8); pest management (7); irrigation and crop rotations (4 each); fruit tree management, plant populations per feddan, and mechanized plowing (3 each); certified seeds and mechanization (2 each); vegetable production, animal feeds, Extension services, date production, loans, resource management, plant diseases, and weed control (1 each). Whether this nomothetically-based information added to, or reinforced the indigenous repertoire of pest knowledge and control is not known. What is known, however, is that visual mass media did have an impact upon the transfer of Western pest control, farm management, and production strategies. One additional government educational effort that has had effects in the reduction of indigenous practices, was the opening of a two-year Western-oriented Agricultural Technical School in El Dakhla Oasis, which both men and women attended. Coinciding with these educational efforts, the Ministry of Agriculture either gave the farmers pesticides, or sold or applied commercial

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pesticides at highly subsidized rates to encourage their acceptance, and these were made accessible to all farmers regardless of socioeconomic status. Socioeconomic and Subsistence Factors of Pest Management Strategies One portion of the research was to determine the factors that influenced choices in pest management decision-making. By testing the socioeconomic variables of age, land holdings, education, and household size against the types of pest management used, some differences have been found (discussed below). The descriptive data of the independent variables are illustrated in Table 2. Table 2 Independent Variables of Age, Education, Land Holdings, and Household Size of the Sample (N=60)

Age did make a difference in rodent control practices, whereby younger farmers were more likely to use introduced methods than older farmers. Age was not statistically significant, however, in the adoption of introduced insect control. The socioeconomic variables of education, numbers of persons in the household, and land holdings were not shown to be statistically significant in the adoption of rodent control methods. The independent variables of education and the number of feddan farmed were, however, statistically significant in the choice of insect control in that the higher the education and the greater the number of feddan farmed, the more likely it was that the farmer would use introduced insect control. In part, the larger land holdings may have reflected greater yields and they may have been forced to adopt introduced pest management in order to protect the increased volume of grain. Although the differences were not statistically significant,


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farmers with larger households tended to use more indigenous insect control technologies. Larger households may have chosen to retain more indigenous controls because household members were available to perform the greater amounts of labor and time required for some of the traditional methods. One other important factor considered was the end use of the major crops. Data show that in spite of the intentions of the New Valley Project to create a surplus of grain that could be shipped to the Nile region, the farming system of El Dakhla oasis largely remained a subsistence economy. At the time of the research, the only export commodity was dates, and in fact, government subsidized milled rice and wheat flour were imported into the New Valley from the Nile region. In part, this was a result of the large influx of government employees who did not have access to home-produced food commodities. As an illustration, the total population for the New Valley in 1975 was 40,000. By 1992, this figure had risen to 120,000. This was partly because of native population increases, but the number also reflects the large number of farm settlers (in El Kharga) and government bureaucrats and migrant employees (e.g., Western-taught school teachers and health care providers) in all three oases during this period. During the interviews, each respondent was asked to rank his/her top three crops by importance, to describe their end use, and to explain the type of pest management used. Overall, the three main crops in rank order were (1) wheat, (2) rice, and (3) dates. A majority stated that with the exception of dates, most or all cereal grains were grown for home consumption, and if there were surpluses, the grain would be sold to the Ministry of Agriculture or other villagers. Introduced pest management technologies were most often used regardless of whether the crops were to be totally consumed by the household, or partially consumed and surpluses sold. It may be concluded that in general, socioeconomic factors and subsistence strategies were not significant determinants or predictors for the adoption of introduced pest management practices in El Dakhla Oasis. Ridgley and Brush (1992) report from their research of adoptive behaviors of California farmers that, “results demonstrate that farmers will adopt those components of the IPM program that are best suited to their circumstances and reject others or adopt them at a less intensive level. Different levels of adoption among farmers cannot be explained merely by lack of information or lack of economic resources.” El Dakhla farmers were likewise selectively choosing innovations that

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corresponded with their individual household needs (e.g., availability of labor) and ideologies (e.g., traditional methods were “old-fashioned” or traditional methods were perceived to be safer). From a study of eighteen Nile Valley villages, Radwan and Lee (1986) also found almost universal acceptance of fertilizers and pesticides, and there were “no sharp variations in the intensity in the use of such inputs across farm sizes.” Discussion Changes that have occurred as a result of the introduction of Western technologies may be summarized as follows: 1. Most farmers had adopted the introduced pest management techniques for various reasons, and in the process of doing so, had for the most part abandoned indigenous practices; 2. Many farmers perceived the numbers of rodents and stored products insects to be greater than prior to the introduction of Western pest management; 3. Most farmers no longer sunned their grain prior to storage, nor buried stored grain in the sand either because of increased yields or water-saturated sand; and 4. Farmers and other oasis natives expressed their concerns with environmental and human health hazards connected with commercial pesticide use that were not present when indigenous practices were exclusively used. Because of the latter concerns, many did not use rodenticide in the farm compounds nor insecticide in grain storage because of human and small animal safety. Others reported a reversal in sunning methods in that they were washing grain and sunning after storage and prior to milling, rather than before, in order to remove the pesticide residues, odors, and tastes which had been incorporated during storage. Several farmers stated they wanted to develop a local-level awareness group to protect not only their environment, but also human health. Where problems may arise, is when Western practices are transferred wholesale without recognizing or acknowledging efficacious indigenous methods. Although referring to Egyptian reclaimed lands of South Tahrir, El-Lakany’s (1991) statement that “such practices are not suitable for desert land”, and an “economic/biological balance between the use of chemicals and yield [should be] sought so that some yield is


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sacrificed in favor of reducing the use of chemicals thus achieving sustainability” is applicable for the protection of other Egyptian desert lands, and the potentially finite underground water reservoir of the New Valley. One way of achieving this sustainability could be through the use of integrated pest management. Western “nomothetic” and indigenous “idiographic” IPM principles are not inherently asymmetrical, and in fact, similarities may be seen. Table 3 Comparison between Western “Nomothetic” and Indigenous “Idiographic”

Based upon participant-observation of both introduced and traditional practices, an integrated pest management program could be further promoted and taught in the oasis by the Ministry of Agriculture. The foundation should be an integrated approach of indigenous and Western scientific knowledge of pests, prevention techniques, and effective, yet environmentally sustainable pest-specific control. Prior to the introduction

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of training sessions and the transfer of knowledge regarding commercial pesticides, the oasian farmers had methods for managing and controlling the pest complex. Unless these had been successful, either the practices would have died out, or the people would not have been able to survive in the harsh desert environment over the millennia. Extension agents should promote the continuation of indigenous practices which include among others, pre-storage cleaning, re-mudding, aeration techniques, and pest harborage control. Should insects develop during storage, control measures could be analyzed and recommended by the Extension agents; ones which are least harmful to human health and the environment. Conclusions The farmers of El Dakhla Oasis had a well-established indigenous knowledge base for not only the production of foodstuffs, but also for post-harvest protection. Increased yields that necessitated different protection strategies and free or subsidized commercial pesticides enhanced the likelihood of generalized adoption of introduced pest management practices. Concomitant stimulation for these changes included the highly effective instructional and Extension policies initiated by the Ministry of Agriculture. One component was missing in this development scheme, however. The transfer of knowledge was one-way—from the Ministry of Agriculture down to the farmers. If education is to play a vital role in development, technology transfers, and hopefully a rise in the availability of food for an ever-increasing world population, then change agents educated through the structured Western institutions must allow themselves to be taught effective indigenous practices by those they are trying to re-educate. Agricultural development in El Dakhla Oasis (or elsewhere) does not have to be an either-or issue. When components of the “nomothetic” knowledge of the educators and elements of local “idiographic” knowledge are prudently combined, a new prototype for pest management could be established—one that could eventually develop into an environmentally and economically productive integrated pest management approach. References Barlett, Peggy F., (Ed.) (1980). Agricultural Decision Making. Orlando: Academic Press.


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Cink, James and Phillip Harein (1989). Stored Grain Pest Management. Department of Entomology, Minnesota Extension Service. St. Paul: University of Minnesota. DeWalt, Billie R. (1994). Using Indigenous Knowledge to Improve Agriculture and Natural Resource Management. Human Organization 53 (2):123–131. El-Lakany & Hosny (1991). Sustainable Agriculture Development Under Marginal Conditions: An Example From Egypt, pp. 117– 125. In Sustainable Agriculture and Food Security. Report Prepared for the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development by The Scientific Committee on the Application of Science to Agriculture, Forestry and Aquaculture (CASAFA) of the International Council of Scientific Unions. Nagel, Ernest (1961). The Structure of Science: Problems in the Logic of Scientific Explanation. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. Netting, Robert M. (1993). Smallholders, Householders. Farm Families and the Ecology of Intensive, Sustainable Agriculture. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Radwan, Samir and Eddy Lee (1986). Agrarian Change in Egypt: An Anatomy of Rural Poverty. London: Croom Helm. Ridgley, Anne-Marie and Stephen B.Brush. (1992). Social Factors and Selective Technology Adoption: The Case of Integrated Pest Management. Human Organization 51 (4) 367–378. Warren, D.Michael, L.Jan Slikkerveer, and David Brokensha (1995). The Cultural Dimension of Development. Indigenous Knowledge Systems. London: Intermediate Technology Publications Ltd.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Indigenous People’s Knowledge and Education: A Tool for Development? Rodney Reynar Introduction A quantum leap in the historical stream of Western human cognizance was foretold in Descartes’ statement, “I think, therefore I am.” In the centuries that ensued, the historical cultural axiom, “I belong, therefore I am,” was exchanged for Descartes’ individualistic dictum. The life of the individual, gradually superseded the participation in and contribution to the life and welfare of the family or community, as the primary source of human identity (Masamba Ma Mpolo cited in Augsberger, 1986, p. 79). A schism had been etched, as reflected in the use of the antithetical contemporary cultural designations of the traditional and the modern. Moreover, modernity was positioned at the climax of a linear progression of human development beginning originally with the traditional. Participation in modernity emerged as the precursor to full existential awareness. The linkage of humanity to progress, as defined and experienced by the modern individual, was extrapolated until individual human progress became the ontological reality to which all other realities were held subservient. This unilateral identification of human success with modernity— an identification that has resulted in relegating the contributions of the traditional to levels far beneath those accorded to the contributions (at least seemingly) of modernity—has resulted in development, as being the actuator of modernity, tragically and forcefully destroying cultures around the world. “For two-thirds of the people on earth…development…is a reminder of what they are not. It is a reminder of an undesirable, undignified condition. To escape from it, they need to be enslaved to others’ experiences and dreams” (Esteva, 1992, p. 10). The conclusion that development is, in and of itself, violent, is

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becoming increasingly difficult, if not impossible, to refute (Shiva, 1988, p. 232–33; Alvares, 1992). No list of positive modifiers, of which participatory and sustainable are but two of the current favorites, changes the fundamental character of development. A l t h o u g h t h e s e m a n t i c l i n k a g e o f p a r t i c i p a t i o n and development, for example, suggests that through participation a definitional parameter is placed on development,1 development experience, itself, indicates that the converse has been the case. It is development that places a definitional parameter on participation. In other words, development, as being the emissary of the hegemonic, defines the acceptable range of participatory actions, if not outright mandating that participation occur. Voices of dissent are met with the barrel of a gun or with alienating marginalization. One look no further than the current Zapatista movement, or workers unemployed in the latest multinational reorganization, or inner-city America, or the continued struggle in East Timor, or…. And for those that still do not believe, history books are replete with hundreds, if not thousands, of other examples, of which the subjugation of North American, Bangladeshi or Taiwanese indigenous populations, are but to name a few. Development does not take no for an answer. So many state offices, so many development agencies are well meaning but destroy us nonetheless. They have taught us to beg but we want liberation by our own means. Our Inca ancestors were our pioneers. Their gold drove the white man mad and cruel, but they themselves only used it to make jewelry. Theirs was the right attitude. Wealth is not our goal. What is important is the spiritual element and economic, cultural and political independence. (Guacho cited in Verhelst, 1990)

Furthermore, the negation of self-defined cultural actions as being unparticipatory, and therefore, illegitimate, continues to result in the further reinforcement of a monolithic conceptual framework for human existence. In this regard, education has not played an insignificant role. Education is increasingly speaking for the development discourse, as any survey of international education or general development literature will attest. Preparing people for economic and social advancement, has become education’s primary mandate. When education is successful in speaking for the development discourse, people attempt to validate the monolithic, through participatory actions predefined by development, in their

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desire to be validated themselves. Education has become indispensable for inculcating the virtues of new emphasis of the development discourse in people around the world—emphasis of which the current interest in integrating indigenous knowledge systems into development, is one. The Growing Interest in Indigenous Knowledge Systems Over the last fifteen years, the interest in indigenous knowledge systems2 has grown beyond the anthropological documentation of cultures, as evidenced by the increasing amounts of literature on the subject from individuals beyond the discipline of anthropology.3 In this evolution of interest, two documents are particularly noteworthy. The first being Conklin’s paper, “Hanunoo Agriculture” (as cited by Brokensha et al., 1980, p. 1) which is credited for the “beginning of systematic, detailed and analytical study of ethnoscience” and, secondly, Brokensha’s (et al.) book Indigenous Knowledge Systems and Development, which, by the authors’ own claim, provides the “first collection that explicitly examines the relationship between indigenous knowledge and development, over a wide range of geographical regions and of topics” (p. 1). Brokensha’s (et al.) claim has been largely born out in the literature, as judged by the number of times that articles in their book have been quoted in support of the potential positive linkage between indigenous knowledge and development. Representative of current (Western) thinking about indigenous knowledge systems, are the following statements: There is a growing body of evidence describing the positive uses on indigenous knowledge in development projects and many successes in building upon it. The literature shows that by understanding and working with indigenous knowledge and decision-making systems and indigenous organizations, participation, capacity building, and sustainability all can be enhanced in cost-effective ways. (Warren, 1991, abstract) Rural people’s knowledge is an enormous and under-utilized national resource. (Chambers, 1985, p. 92) [S]mall farmers’ expertise represents ‘the single largest knowledge resources not yet mobilized in the development enterprise’ (Hatch as cited in Chambers, 1985, p. 92–93).

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In the 1980s some influential international organizations such as the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN, 1980) and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP, 1986) have recognized the role of indigenous knowledge and its systems in the national development process. (MacKinnon et al. cited by Dei, 1990)

At least superficially, then, the interest in exploring indigenous knowledge systems suggests a positive departure from viewing millions of people simply as irrational peasants in need of development and, furthermore, a departure from the unquestioned importation of modern technologies to nonmodern contexts. However, there are important reasons for resisting movement in this direction—reasons that this paper will attempt to address. Indigenous Knowledge and Development Although current thinking on indigenous knowledge systems importantly acknowledges the validity of rural peoples’ knowledge, conceptually this thinking remains firmly imbedded within the hegemony of the western development discourse, spoken of in the opening remarks of this paper. Therefore, indigenous knowledge systems, themselves, are ultimately intended for subsumption within the development rubric, as further indicated in Richards’ comment that indigenous knowledge practices are “now seen not as evidence of the ‘backwardness’ of African agriculture, but as principles with considerable development potential” (Richards, 1985, p. 43). When this is the case, establishing modern agricultural production techniques, as being indicative of the development process, remains the ultimate goal. Rare are the occasions when indigenous knowledge is not spoken of as an enabling step for development. 4 When indigenous knowledge contributes to the cause of development, it is viewed as having value however, when it does not, it is labeled as irrational, misguided, or empirically unverifiable, and accordingly, in need of change. Brokensha and Riley’s comments are revealing in this regard: Anyone who seeks to change the social and economic system of any people should first carefully examine existing indigenous knowledge and beliefs because: a) even if most beliefs proved to be empirically unverifiable, it would still be courteous, and efficacious, to find out


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what people believe, before trying to persuade them to adopt new beliefs…(1980, p. 113)

If, then, the primary value of indigenous knowledge is its contribution to the development enterprise, then it is appropriate to question, for example, what significance, Conklin’s often cited research of the Hanunoo tribe in the Philippines, who can identify 1,600 different species plants (Howes, 1980, p. 337), could possibly have. An elaborate smokescreen is one possible answer. In order to answer this question it is first necessary to ask, what, then, is development concerned with? As any elementary economics text will suggest, and at the risk of over simplification, the development process is concerned with the creation of wealth through market or economic mechanisms. Therefore, if indigenous knowledge is to be of value in the development process, it would appear appropriate to conclude that it will be through the creation of wealth. However, in the case of the Hanunoo, few reasons are apparent for encouraging them to continue to differentiate between 1,600 plant species when only a limited number are likely to have immediate economic utility. As Shiva points out, “dominant forestry science has no place for the knowledge of the Hanunoo” (1993, p. 14). Furthermore, even if all 1,600 plant species were marketable, the shear number would preclude their utilization by any one group. At this point, it is necessary to respond to the inevitable challenge: Is not the preservation of the Hanunoo’s knowledge important for its potential, but as yet unknown, pharmaceutical or agricultural implications? The answer is a conditional, Yes, of which the conditionality of this response will hopefully become apparent in the following discussion. In her book, Monocultures of the Mind, Vandana Shiva argues that “dominant knowledge also destroys the very conditions for [local] alternatives to exist, very much like the introduction of monocultures destroying the very conditions for diverse species to exist” (1993, p. 12). In other words, “local knowledge is made to disappear” when the dominant system negates “its very existence,” or when it erases or destroys the reality which the local knowledge attempts to represent (1993, p. 9, 12). The significance of Shiva’s remarks becomes clearer when the following assumptions which are tied to the reductionist scientific approach are abandoned, as they should be: 1) knowledge exists

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independent of the human/nature context in which it originated; 2) knowledge can be moved from community to community without the fear of transmutation; and, again 3) the value of knowledge resides in the economic utility that it can provide. Releasing these assumptions allows for the alternate conclusion that indigenous knowledge has not developed in isolation from nature, but rather in participation with nature and community. Therefore, detaching indigenous knowledge from its sustentative human/nature context is tantamount to foretelling its death; its roots have been lanced. Indigenous knowledge is no longer indigenous when extracted from its human/nature context; it stands ashamedly naked. What remains is knowledge—knowledge that is no longer an integral constituent of a broader living ecological and communal understanding. Similarly, Shiva comments that, “the colonization of diverse peoples was, at its root, a forced subjugation of ecological concepts of nature…” (1992, p. 210). The reductionist approach to indigenous knowledge systems is reflected prominently in the following comment: Imported Western methods and technologies fail too often in a new setting because the “experts” simply didn’t understand the people they were trying to help, and failed to take local knowledge and attitudes into account. Of course, development planners and field workers needn’t shoulder undue blame. Indigenous knowledge isn’t always visible, and even when it is, it’s not always easy to understand because it is incorporated in a way of life—part experience, part custom, religion, tribal law and the attitude of people toward their own lives and those of other living things. What little is recorded in black and white about it is often found only in anthropologists’ anecdotes or mere mentions-in-passing in scientific dissertations on tropical agriculture, forestry or veterinary medicine. (Herbert, 1993, p. 143, emphasis added)

This comment represents a critical misunderstanding of the origins of indigenous knowledge. Indigenous knowledge is indigenous precisely “because it is incorporated in a way of life—part experience, part custom, religion, tribal law and the attitude of people toward their own lives and those of other living things.” The belief that indigenous knowledge can be extracted on a piecemeal basis without disrupting the whole system is extremely fallacious. As indicated above, indigenous knowledge does not derive its origins in the individual but, rather, in the collective e p i s t e m o l o g i c a l u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f t h e c o m m u n i t y. T h e


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establishment of new or parallel epistemologies, in areas such as agriculture or medicine, and as endorsed by the development discourse, has significant implications for indigenous communities. Appadurai’s comments regarding changes in Western India, as the result of the spread of commercialized agriculture, are instructive in this regard. The emergence of an agronomic episteme, divorced from a wider context, in the process of which the corresponding techne is rendered obsolete. In this process, the very epistemological fabric of the community is also rendered obsolescent and survives only in the diminished form. (1990, p. 188)

The introduction of technology is, even in its most innocuous grassroots or appropriate form, not value-neutral in respect to its cultural or ecological implications. Science and the intimate or interconnected world of technology are deeply embedded within particular social constructs, and therefore, prominently reflect the moral and value beliefs therein. Arguments to the contrary are increasingly “untenable in today’s world, when science and technology have become cognitively inseparable and the amalgam has been incorporated into the economic system” (Shiva, 1988, p. 237). To accept technology, is to accept a particular view of reality. Technology, without its enabling discourse, is impotent. Breaking down the resistance of traditional cultures to modern values and practices is the enabling step for development (Banuri, 1990, p. 95). Development’s promise that cultures can “have their cake and eat it too,” is the promulgation of a dangerous illusion. Although it may appear that a static positioning of indigenous cultures is being argued for, this is not the case, as would arguing that indigenous cultures have reached a point of completely beneficial or harmonious equilibrium be foolhardy. What is being argued, is that unless the impetus for cultural change is derived endogenously to the culture, cultural disintegration is inevitable. This leads to the related issue of the centrality of the individual in the development discourse. In all varieties (however broadly based) of economistic assessment, the individual is seen both as the crucial locus of agency and as the prime moral value. In more holistic frameworks, the prime value is

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the reproduction of communities and the important loci of agency are usually various kinds of groups or collectivities. (Appadurai, 1990, p. 187)

Throughout the development discourse, the realization of individual freedom is viewed as one of the central prerequisites for poor societies to achieve economic and social development. The implicit assumption being, that the individual, when given personal freedom, will promote the well being of him/herself and of society in general. Traditional bonds of interdependency must be sacrificed if personal freedom is to be realized. In other words, for the individual to take precedence, the importance of the community must diminish—a phenomena all too well known in industrialized nations. Alternative assertions, as implied by the widely used combination of community and development, represent an elaborate and ultimately ephemeral shell game. Relatively unencumbered by restrictive communal ties, the modern individual has been set free to pursue personal interest in all cases other than those blatantly detrimental to other individuals in the community. Although the abdication of individualistic values in exchange for those of communal interdependency is anathema to the modern person, there are numerous reasons, including the ever looming environmental crisis and increasing crime rates in the socalled developed world, to name two, to suggest that a reevaluation of this stand is necessary. If, then, our discussion returns to the Hanunoo, we can conclude, on the basis of the preceding discussion, and for which unanimity of opinion is unlikely, that the preservation of the Hanunoo’s knowledge is first and foremost necessary for the Hanunoo. The Hanunoo’s knowledge, as being more than isolated pieces, cannot exist independent of the Hanunoo themselves. If the Hanunoo are absorbed into the global development society (assuming that they have not already been absorbed), the Hanunoo will only be Hanunoo in name. Education, whether classified as formal, nonformal, or extension, is incapable of altering this outcome, unless it is education as defined by the Hanunoo themselves, and as independent from the development discourse. Moreover, when education is defined endogenously to, for example, the Hanunoo culture, the educational classifications noted above are unlikely to be relevant. They are, in and of themselves, deeply rooted in a particular social reality, unlike that of the Hanunoo’s. Gandhi, for one, observed that “‘the curriculum and pedagogic ideas


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which form the fabric of modern education were imported from Oxford and Cambridge, Edinburgh and London…. But they are essentially foreign, and till they are repudiated, there can never be’ a new, nonmodern education that is rooted in the indigenous culture and life of the people” (Prakash, 1993, p. 10–11). To argue that development is inevitable, and, therefore, that the most appropriate response is to assist/educate the Hanunoo in assimilating the best of that which development has to offer, while maintaining that which is most beneficial within their own knowledge systems, is to slow the process of cultural disintegration, not change it. As noted early in this section, the development discourse’s fundamental concern is the market. Cultural factors that do not contribute to economic growth are, in fact, development’s nemesis. For development to accept the legitimacy of cultural epistemologies within which the market is not held central, is to begin dismantling development’s very foundation. Therefore, if education does not operate independent of the development discourse, it will not speak for the values of indigenous cultures. Education is not a value neutral endeavor, it speaks of the values and beliefs of its enabling discourse. Paulo Freire was correct in concluding that education “is always an action either for the domestication of people or for their liberation” (Freire 1985, p. 99). Indigenous Knowledge as a Resource On a closely related theme, when indigenous knowledge is seen merely as one of the constituent bricks in the development process, indigenous knowledge itself is reduced to a resource, as indicated in several of the representative quotes highlighted earlier. Seen as a resource, indigenous knowledge, too, joins the long list of resources that can be exploited for economic growth. Similarly Shiva comments that The transmutation of nature into a resource goes hand in hand with alienating the ancient rights of people to nature as a source of sustenance. When forests, land, water or plants are ‘developed’ or ‘scientifically managed’ in order to supply industrial inputs, they are appropriated from communities whose lives and livelihoods they have supported for centuries. (Shiva, 1992, p. 213)

When indigenous knowledge is appropriated it is transmogrified into an inert constituent of the commercial process. Ultimately, then, the

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very people with whom these indigenous knowledge systems originally resided are also cast, largely unprotected, into the harsh realities of the world economic system. The long hand of development continues to reach deeper into the souls of people around the world, stealing away their limited remaining autonomy. To be subjugated as slaves to the world economic order is the beginning of progress, at least, so goes the common development story! The forthcoming implications are profoundly tragic. If, as asserted earlier, culture does not exist independent of knowledge, then, classifying indigenous knowledge as a resource is, by implication, to introduce humans to themselves as resources—an introduction that occurred years ago in industrial countries, as indicated in the commonly used, but rarely challenged, term, human resources. When seen as resources, humans ultimately differ little from a chunk of coal. Both are mined, assuming that their quality and associated costs to production remain advantageous to the entrepreneur.5 The iron ore mine is continuously rehabilitated in interest of maximizing production. Likewise, humans are given health care plans, holiday leave, and a voice on the management committee, also in the interest of maximizing production. However, when either cheaper ore or cheaper human resources are located, the mine is closed and the humans are left standing in front of locked gates, while the worldwide search for profits continues. It is, therefore, natural that in the shadows of human subjugation, that nature herself, too, lies only one step away from subjugation. If people are valued only as resources, it is unlikely, if not impossible, that nature will be more highly esteemed. In fact, the converse is likely to be true. In this regard, the developed world’s current environmental crisis paints a somewhat bleak picture. Garbage-strewn beaches, polluted rivers and cities, collapsing buildings in the inner city, and abandoned farm houses, speak loudly of ecological crises and of the steady diminution of the human spirit in the industrialized world. This is to be our gift to the developing world. Although there are those who seriously advocate compensating indigenous peoples for the knowledge resources that are appropriated for projects such as pharmaceutical or pesticide production (Cunningham, 1991; Posey, 1990; Brush, 1993), this is nothing short of cultural genocide. To state that, “since the biological resources of indigenous people are increasing in value to industrial countries, why should indigenous people continue to operate under the common heritage principle by providing their knowledge and resources as free


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goods?” Brush, (1993), again, critically misunderstands the fundamental nature of indigenous knowledge. Perhaps the more appropriate question is, why should we expect indigenous peoples to share their knowledge with us when we are so recklessly destroying our own cultural and ecological domiciles? Our Western cultural and intellectual horizons are laid bare by comments that see compensation as a way to “promote conservation of biological resources,” (Brush, 1993, p. 661) while making no mention of its cultural implications. Indigenous cultures have maintained their knowledge precisely because they have remained largely isolated from industrial and market systems. The provision of compensation, however, ethically congruent with Western values, signals the end of isolation, and, therefore, by implication also the end of these cultures. Later, when indigenous groups begin dealing with the social problems related to the disintegration of their cultures, they are blamed for squandering their opportunities. It is easy to say that what happens afterwards, is not our responsibility. Providing financial compensation serves only to placate our consciences that the knowledge was received equitably. By viewing indigenous knowledge systems as resources, “all ethical aspects of relating to nature are destroyed and the relationship is reduced to merely commercial concerns” (Shiva, 1992, p. 212). Rich and reciprocating human/nature balances are replaced by the process of withdrawal, whereby “renewable systems” are converted into “nonrenewable ‘resources’” (p. 212). Questions of sustainability are only considered when they are entertained in conjunction with questions of affecting growth, in spite of the fact that “the crisis of sustainability has occurred only when and where this union between knowledge, livelihood, and living has been broken and knowledge is used for the single purpose of increasing productivity” (Orr, 1992, p. 32). Although the benefits of modern educational attainment are commonly extolled, it is extremely questionable whether this conclusion is merited. When indigenous people are educated to see their knowledge as an economic resource to be exploited in the development process, the rich and reciprocating human/nature balances that have taken hundreds, if not thousands, of years to establish, are sacrificed in the interest of progress. Progress, however, we are now finding out, is nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The wolf’s prey, unfortunately, is both us and the environment in which we live. As Wendell Berry puts it, “we are living in the most destructive and, hence, the most stupid period of the history of our species” (Berry, 1990, p.

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61–62). The time has come for the wolf to be disrobed and chased out of the house. In the words of Kohalet, “For a man may do his work with wisdom, knowledge and skill, and then he must leave all he owns to someone who has not worked for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune.” We must reconsider who are the true keepers of wisdom, knowledge and skills. Indigenous Knowledge as the People’s Science Does indigenous knowledge represent the people’s science, as Richards suggests? (Richards, 1985, p. 142). The multitude of studies documenting the adaptive agricultural techniques of indigenous peoples, would suggest this to be the case. However, if, as the following discussion will suggest, indigenous people’s experimentation is undertaken for reasons importantly dissimilar to those motivating the Western scientific paradigm, the reevaluation of this conclusion may be circumspect. In other words, if, for example, the epistemological rationale for adaptive change by indigenous peoples is culturally derived, does this, then, fit the criteria for being classified as science? If science is understood in the most generic sense of the term, as suggested by Goonatilake, when she defines science, “as the search for valid explanations of physical reality,” (1984, p. 1) then, perhaps, indigenous knowledge can be understood as science, although not as originally conceived by Francis Bacon, and certainly not as conceived in most contemporary sites of higher learning. The reductionist scientific approach cannot justifiably argue for the “fundamental dichotomizing relationship between…mind and matter, objective and subjective, the rational and the emotional” (Shiva, 1992, p. 209), while simultaneously assenting to the legitimacy of cultural derivations of human inquiry. To do such, is to begin undermining the very reductionist scientific approach itself and/or to engage in elaborate reinterpretations of the epistemological origins of indigenous people’s knowledge.6 To conceive of indigenous knowledge as the people’s science, is to identify cognitive dichotomies where they do not exist, and, secondly, on this basis, to encourage the infusion of modern scientifically derived technologies in support of that which is indigenous. People’s science, therefore, takes its place in the harmonious dualism leading to development.7 However, to support indigenous knowledge as science, at least in the narrow sense of being compatible with Western science, first requires,


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as implied previously, that a linear relationship between the two, be demonstrated. In other words, it is necessary to prove that a harmonious dualism does, in fact, exist. Even a cursory view of both science and indigenous knowledge systems, suggests otherwise. At the risk of over-simplification, science, and its inseparable cognate, development, are concerned primarily with the mastery of humanity over the environment, and, by some authors’ definitions, also the mastery of humans over culture (Marglin, 1990, p. 140). Indigenous knowledge systems, on the other hand, represent attempts to live in harmony with the environment. Furthermore, science requires the infusion of external sources of energy, whereas, indigenous knowledge systems are dependent on the natural cycling of energy (Alvares, 1992, p. 222–23). Only by undertaking considerable mental gymnastics, can the two be considered to be linearly related. The relationship between the two is more appropriately understood as an fundamental exchange of epistemologies. Education’s role in promoting the exchange of epistemologies is reflected in the following statement by Gandhi. Modern…education makes young people unfit for any useful function in life. The vast majority of people that sent their children to the [modern] schools were agriculturalists…. There is no doubt that the young people when they came back knew not a thing about agriculture, were indeed contemptuous of the calling of their fathers… Almost from the commencement, the text-books…never [teach a student] any pride in [his] surroundings. The higher he goes, the farther he is removed from his home, so that at the end of this education he becomes estranged from his surroundings. He feels no poetry about the home life. The village scenes are all a sealed book to him. His own civilization is presented to him as imbecile, barbarous, superstitious and useless for all practical purposes. His education is calculated to wean him from his traditional culture. (Gandhi as cited in Prakash, 1993, p. 11)

In turn, these are the individuals who are chosen, by agricultural extension programs to teach farmers to improve on their indigenous knowledge. What they teach is unlikely to be limited to agriculture. Designating indigenous knowledge as science, serves only those for whom knowledge is both conceptually linked with science and independent of its contextual derivation. In contrast, those with whom indigenous knowledge resides have little, or no, need for the word, science: they have the more apropos word, culture—culture, that cannot

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exist independent of a richly evolving and ongoing dialogical interplay with context. Indigenous Knowledge and Change Contrary to that which the modern scientific paradigm suggests, the resistance of indigenous knowledge to change is, rather, one of its most enduring strengths, and this for several reasons. Although modern culture has elevated progress or change to a virtue, indigenous cultures have, on the other hand, established their ways of life in balance with a living and dynamic ecology, by cautiously engaging in change. Change is not undertaken for change’s sake, as is the case, all too often, in modern cultures. The following, rather lengthy quote, provides a rich glimpse into one indigenous culture’s relationship with the environment. Indigenous Peruvian culture has a holistic world view or rather cosmology, as it takes into its integrated perspective not just the world but the totality of the cosmos. In this perspective, the whole of nature is conceived as a living being like an animal; in which all its parts are interrelated, man being one of them. In this scheme of things, nature does not belong to man, but man to nature. This human society does not stand in opposition to nature, as in the Western view of man, the conqueror of natural forces; rather, man works with and communicates with nature. This is no static conception of the world but a dynamic one in which there is a continuous transformation and domestication of the environment. The ancient Peruvian cosmology holds agriculture at the centre because of the primary concern of society to ensure adequate nourishment for the population and for the development of arts and crafts. The arts, sciences, philosophy, religion, systems of perception and classification, language and technology are all organized around agricultural activities. For example, the language is extraordinary rich in expressions related to crop and animal characteristics pertinent to their breeding and husbandry. Thus, the agricultural centeredness of Andean culture is linked to the integrated management of the ecosystem. Indigenous society regulates social relations around the principles of reciprocity and redistribution, i.e., production is dictated by the necessities of social reproduction. The environment is organized and used so as to bring mutual benefits to both society and nature. Environmental management by a culture based on farming gives priority to resources which have a fundamentally social function. Thus, water becomes the source of irrigation and the flora becomes


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the nutrition for animals. The whole countryside appears as a cultural entity as much as it does a natural one. The holistic culture of the Andes is best expressed in the fact that the soil, water, crops, breeds, climate and landscape are not conceivable as existing in isolation of each other; they are joined by their multiple interrelations resulting from the everyday practice of agriculture. (PRATEC, 1991, p. 96)

In the case of the culture just noted, the effects of undertaking rapid change do not have to be postulated, they are occurring. The Andean culture, once “able to cater for the need of a population as large as at the present time,” has witnessed a steady genetic deterioration of crop varieties and an increase in soil erosion, and now struggles with producing enough food (p. 98, 100). Meanwhile, increasing numbers of people are “forced by the impact of capitalist social relations to seek employment in the industrial and commercial sectors and to adapt to urban life” (p. 98–9). This is the legacy of 500 years of colonization and of forced change in the Andes. A stone thrown into a pond causes ripples. Likewise change causes ripples far from the original site of impact.8 Furthermore, as any child playing on the banks of a pond knows, the bigger the stone, the bigger the ripples. Modern cultures continue to throw larger and larger rocks into the water, buoyed by science’s claim that we should not be concerned with the growing size of the ripples, because, of course, science can stop them if they prove to be harmful. Indigenous cultures learned long ago that this was untrue, or they died. When change occurs slowly, and in measures commensurate with the ability to mitigate possible harmful affects, the propensity for radically altering human/nature interactions is greatly diminished. To live in this way requires an intimate “knowledge of specific places and their peculiar traits of soils, microclimate, wildlife, and vegetation, as well as the history and the cultural practice that work in each particular setting” (Orr, 1992, p. 32–3).9 When change is conceived exogenously to context or place, the premise of generalizable applicability is evoked, thereby allowing for similar forms of change to be advocated in dissimilar places. As Orr puts it, this is “one of the conceits of science” (p. 31). Similarly, Berry notes that

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No amount of education can overcome the innate limits of human intelligence and responsibility. We are not smart enough or conscious enough or alert enough to work responsibly on a gigantic scale. (Berry as cited in Orr, p. 29)

Indigenous Knowledge Systems: The Term, as a Problem It should not comes as a surprise that the term, indigenous knowledge systems, in and of itself, bares the marks of its origin and, therefore, presents a problem. Although the development discourse may not have given birth to the interest in indigenous peoples’ knowledge, it has, over the last twenty years, undoubtedly been, at the very least, its nursemaid. In common-day parlance, the word system, gives rise to images of individually definable components acting in concert together. Similarly, when used in conjunction with the words, indigenous knowledge, and as undoubtedly reflected in the literature, the same connotative image is induced. Therefore, as commonly understood, indigenous knowledge can be disassociated from the people, beneficially altered, called indigenous knowledge once again, and then retaught to the same people without any deleterious effect occurring. This is reflected in the comment that “if an idea is borrowed from the people, developed by specialists and returned to the people, it is more likely to be adopted” (Brokensha et al., 1980, p. 4). The answer to this problem is not to simply discontinue the use of the word, systems, as even the abbreviated version, indigenous knowledge, is somewhat problematic—problematic, in the sense that it does not recognize knowledge’s deep and abiding relationship with people. Therefore, the continued use of the terms, indigenous knowledge or indigenous knowledge systems, serves to reintroduce the humanknowledge dichotomy among the very arguments speaking for its dissolution.10 For this reason, the use of the term indigenous peoples’ knowledge, is, perhaps, more appropriate, as it acknowledges the interconnectedness of people and their knowledge. Conclusion This paper has attempted to expose some of the faulty assumptions that undergird the current interest in indigenous people’s knowledge— assumptions which, as Wolfgang Sachs has correctly concluded, “cast into oblivion other ways of relating to the world around us” (Sachs, 1992, p. 5). Although hailed as a breakthrough, the recent interest in


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indigenous people’s knowledge, more appropriately, provides reason for a profound sense of sadness. The wonderfully rich variegation of indigenous cultural fabrics are, through the lens of the development camera, captured only in shades of gray. Unfortunately, however, development is not just interested in taking pictures; development is interested in reweaving fabrics. Where threads are deemed to be worn, development replaces them with synthetic fibers that it says will last longer. Development says, the final fabric is tightly woven and wonderfully colorful. Truth says, threads are missing and the color is gray. David Orr is correct when he states that, “…there can be no national or international solutions separate from those that begin with competent, caring, and disciplined people living artfully in particular localities” (Orr, 1992, p. 31). Indigenous people knew this long ago. The time has come for the rest of us to stay at home and relearn this lesson. Endnotes 1. In other words, the prerequisite of development is participation, and therefore, those who participate define the nature of development. 2. Indigenous knowledge systems are, in the broadest sense, systems of knowledge that are unique to a particular culture and are passed from generation to generation by members of that society (Warren, 1991, p. 1). 3. For bibliographies of indigenous knowledge systems literature, see Brokensha et al., 1980; Brookfield and Padoch, 1994; Herbert, 1993; and Warren, 1991. 4. For a alternative view on the value of indigenous knowledge, see PRATEC, 1991. PRATEC, a Peruvian NGO, speaks for the need to return to the indigenous cultural patterns that have been forcefully marginalized, as the result of varying forms of western colonization. 5. I find arguments to the contrary to be, for the most part, unconvincing. In the final analysis, the way a coal mine or a human employee is treated does not differ fundamentally, and this in spite of the voluminous amounts of books and papers that speak

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? of human development, or any number of related topics. Even the very combination of words, human resources or human development belies there hidden intent.

6. These reinterpretations require that the evaluator conclude that, although indigenous people may attribute their motivation for affecting change to cultural values, for example, this is not what is actually happening. They are actually doing science. 7. Banuri speaks of the movement from “conflictual” dualisms to “harmonious” dualisms (1990, p. 40–1). The significance of her comments being that “the transformation of the traditional into the modern sector began to be conceived not as a conflictual, but rather as an inevitable, desirable, and harmonious process…” 8. This analogy is also used by Shiva (1993) to make a similar point as is being made in this paragraph. 9. For an enlightening discussion of the value of place in developing ecological understanding, see Orr (1992). 10. If the reader is to look back, it will be evident that this problem is also reflected, at numerous times, in the language used in this paper. The decision to leave the paper as is, has been a conscious one. If nothing else it demonstrates prominently the difficulties associated with attempting to use language differently—difficulties with which I continue to struggle. This paper bares the marks of my emerging struggle for understanding. To learn to live well, and therefore, write well, is to strive to grow in one’s own understanding of being in servitude to unknown masters. For this lesson I am indebted to, among others, Wendell Berry, David Orr, Ivan Illich, Jacques Ellul and Madhu Prakash. References Alvares, C. (1990) Science. In W.Sachs (Ed.), The development dictionary (pp. 219–232). Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books. Alveras, C. (1992). Science, development and violence. Delhi, India: Oxford University Press. Appadurai, A. (1990). Technology and the reproduction of values in rural Western India. In Marglin, F.A., & Marglin, S. (Eds.),


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Dominating knowledge: Development, culture, and resistance. (185–216) Oxford: Clarendon Press. Augsberger, D.W. (1986). Pastoral counseling across cultures. Philadelphia, PA: The-Westminster Press. Banuri, T. (1990). Modernization and its discontents: A cultural perspective on theories of development. In Marglin, F.A., & Marglin, S. (Eds.) Dominating knowledge: Development, culture, and resistance. (73–101) Oxford: Clarendon Press. Berry, W. (1990). What are people for? Berkeley, California: North Point Press. Brokensha, D., Warren, D.M., & Werner, O., (Eds.) (1980). Indigenous knowledge systems and development. Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, Inc. Brokensha, D., & Riley, B.W. (1980) Indigenous knowledge of their vegetation, and its relevance for development (Kenya). In Brokensha, D., Warren, D.M., & Werner, O. (Eds.) Indigenous knowledge systems and development. (111–128) Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, Inc. Brookfield, H. & Padoch, C. (1994). Agrodiversity. Environment, June, 7–45. Brush, S.B. (1993). Indigenous knowledge of biological resources and intellectual property rights: The role of anthropology. America Anthropologist 95 (3), 653–671. Chambers, R. (1985). Rural development: Putting the first last. Essex, England: Longman Group Ltd. Cunningham, A.B. (1991). Indigenous knowledge and biodiversity: Global commons of regional heritage? Cultural Survival Quarterly, Sum., 4–8. Dei, G.J.S., (1990). Indigenous knowledge and economic production: The food crop cultivation, preservation and storage methods of a Western African community. Ecology of Food and Nutrition, 28, 1–20. Esteva, G. (1992). Development. In W.Sachs (Ed.), The developmentdictionary (pp. 6–25). Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books. Freire, P. (1985). The politics of education, culture, power, and liberation. (D.Macedo, Trans.). South Hadley, Mass.: Bergin and Garvey. Goonatilake, S. (1984). Aborted discovery: Science & creativity in the third world. London: Zed Books.

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Herbert, J. (1993). Catalog of indigenous knowledge. Ceres, 143, 33–37. Howes, M. (1980). The uses of indigenous technical knowledge in development. In Brokensha, D., Warren, D.M., & Werner, O. (Eds.) Indigenous knowledge systems and development. (335– 252) Washington, D.C.: University Press of America, Inc. Marglin, F.M. (1990). Smallpox in two systems of knowledge. In Marglin, F.A., & Marglin, S. (Eds.) Dominating knowledge: Development, culture, and resistance. (102–144) Oxford: Clarendon Press. Orr, D.W. (1992). Ecological Literacy: Education and the transition to a postmodern world. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Posey, D. (1990). Intellectual property rights and just compensation for indigenous knowledge. Anthropology. 6 (2), 13–16. Prakash, M.S. (1993). Gandhi’s postmodern education: Ecology, peace, and multiculturalism relinked. Journal of Wholistic Education, Sept., 8–17. PRATEC. (1991) Agriculture and peasant knowledge: Revitalizing Andean technologies in Peru. In Haverkort, B., van der Kamp, J., & Waters-Bayer, A. Joining farmers’ experiments: Experiences in participatory technology development. London: Intermediate Technology Group. Richards, P., (1985). Indigenous agricultural revolution: ecology and food production in West Africa. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Sachs, Wolfgang (Ed.) (1992). The Development Dictionary—A Guide to Knowledge as Power. London: Zed Books. Shiva, V. (1988). Reductionist science as epistemological violence. In A.Nandy (Ed.), Science, Hegemony and Violence (232–33). Delhi, India: Oxford University Press. Shiva, V. (1992). Resources. In W.Sachs (Ed.), The development dictionary (pp. 206–218). Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books. Shiva, V. (1993). Monocultures of the mind: Perspectives on biodiversity and biotechnology. London: Zed Books. Verhelst, T.G. (1990). No life without roots, culture, and development. (B.Cumming, trans.). Altantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books. Warren, D.M. (1991). Using indigenous knowledge in agricultural development. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Local Knowledge Systems and Vocational Education in Developing Countries1 Consuelo Quiroz Introduction Secondary schools are generally seen by rural youth as a means of escape from rural areas and farming in most developing countries. One of the reasons for this situation is the lack of relevance of much of the general secondary curriculum to the needs of rural communities. “Relevant education”, in the form of vocational education in secondary schools, has been both more significant in practice and at the same time more controversial. However, vocational schools, which are supposed to inspire and educate youth to stay and work in rural areas, actually have generally exacerbated the problem. These vocational programs, in many developing countries, tend to be academic rather than really vocational in approach. A content analysis of their current curricula reveals that familiar subject matter (e.g., local knowledge) that could be used to lay the foundations of the different disciplines, capture the interest, and challenge the intellect of students at an early age is largely neglected. The knowledge acquired by students is based on subject matter which is only marginally relevant to their world. As a result, the subjects taught are perceived by students as uninteresting and irrelevant. This situation generally leads to high “drop-out” rates in schools (Kroma, 1995; Warren et al., 1996). The aim of this chapter is to: (1) review the concept of Local Knowledge Systems; (2) examine the potential role played by LKS in enhancing the relevance of vocational education curricula; (3) look at different ideas and practices which could be used in an attempt to incorporate LKS into the curricula; (4) bring forth some issues on constraints and opportunities to incorporate LKS; (5) identify the major conclusions/implications and recommendations to utilizing LKS in

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the vocational education curricula. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to systematically assess the different arguments in favor and against the introduction of vocational education as a means of implementing relevant education in developing countries. Local Knowledge Systems Until relatively recently, our concept of knowledge had been influenced mainly by the philosophy and methods of Western science. Today, policy decision-makers, socio-economic planners, bureaucrats, and educators are recognizing the importance of various local or culturebased knowledge systems in addressing the pressing problems of development and the environment in developing countries. Local Knowledge systems (LKS), broadly defined, are the systematic information that remains in the informal sector, usually unwritten and preserved in oral tradition rather than texts. In contrast, formal knowledge is situated in written texts, legal codes, and canonical knowledge. Haverkort defines Local Indigenous Knowledge as the actual knowledge of a given population that reflects the experiences based on traditions and includes more recent experiences with modern technologies (1994). In contrast with the common connotation of “traditional”, LK is dynamic, not static; it constantly changes through experimentation and stimuli from the outside. Local people, including farmers, landless laborers, women, rural artisans, and cattle rearers are the major custodians of this kind of knowledge. These people generate new knowledge every day; they also integrate and adapt new technologies into their knowledge system. The outcome of such hands-on research is valuable in that it optimally utilizes available resources, exploits the existing diversity, takes into account the instability of the environment, and provides livelihoods whilst appreciating the need to sustain the productive resource base. Local Knowledge must be understood within the framework of the cultures of local people; to separate it from its cultural context is to lose sight of the meaning that it has for the survival and integrity of these communities. Therefore, LKS cannot adequately be conserved by setting it aside in a museum, or by recording it on paper or electronically. Like biological diversity, local knowledge can only be conserved by keeping it alive and in use (Röling and Engel 1989). The importance of LKS cut across all spheres of human endeavor, such as agriculture, medicine, education, economics, and politics.

Vocational Education in Developing Countries

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Development in these sectors should be rooted in the solid foundation of LKS to promote a sustainable development (Warren et al., 1996). LKS and Vocational Education Curricula: There is an ample justification to integrate LKS into the educational system in general, and the vocational educational curricula in particular. These reasons could be summarized as follows: a.

Schools are established by any society to ensure the continued existence of the society. Education, then, “must be conceived of as the transmission from one generation to the next of ‘the accumulated wisdom and knowledge of the society’” (Nyerere, 1967, cited in Kroma, 1995:14). In other words, schools exist as agencies for the transfer of the culture of the society from one generation to the next; hence, a good deal of what is to be taught in schools should be decided by reference to the culture of that society. Therefore, as Dr. Ajala argues, “schools in every nation should not ignore the responsibility of transmitting to the next generation, the Indigenous Knowledge considered useful, skills, and attitudes needed in order to maintain national culture” (Warren, et al., 1996:96). b. High ‘drop-out’ rates from the schools in general, and from vocational schools in particular, are caused by a diversity of factors. One of these factors, perhaps one of the most important, is the lack of relevance of the topics taught at the school. There is the need, then, to ensure relevance of the student’s experiences, interests, capabilities, and cognitive development, all of which are usually very different from the context in which the new concepts, skills, and attitudes introduced at the school were first developed. Subjects should be related more closely to the learner’s societal or cultural environment so as to minimize as much as possible the conflicts that might arise from their view of the world and that of the subjects being taught. The content must be made more appealing by linking it to the students’ immediate experiences and making it relevant to their daily activities. In other words, the cultural context of the society which provides its settings and whose needs it exists to serve should be taken much more explicitly into account in the vocational education curricula (Baker, 1995; Warren et al., 1996). The importance of making relevant the school’s curricula through contextualizing it is based on the philosophy of moving from “known

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to unknown.” It has been shown that people learn better through what is called the “progression dimension strategy”, i.e. going from what they already know to the unknown (Warren, et al, 1996). This philosophy can be better understood by looking at the “constructivist” point of view. Constructivists have been challenging, over the last decade, the empiricist-inductivist tradition, which places hardly any emphasis on the learners’ own conceptions and active participation in the learning process. The constructivist tradition is concerned with the interests, beliefs, and emotions of individuals as well as their conceptualizations. It recognizes the influence that prior experience has on the way phenomena are perceived and interpreted. Proponents of this school argue that children’s minds are not “empty” when they go to school; they bring their own ideas about different topics. Long before formal education, they say, children construct for themselves intuitive interpretations of, and explanations for, many phenomena based on their direct and informal social interactions. These interpretations and explanations are based in the cultural context (including Local Knowledge) that surrounds them. This realization has led some authors to talk about the learning process as consisting of “conceptual change” rather than “concept acquisition” (Baimba, 1993). It is interesting to point out that the interface of the student’s ideas (e.g. local knowledge) and school knowledge occurs in the classroom on a daily basis. But teachers, if not trained to recognize it or deal with it, may neglect it, deny it, or even denigrate it when it appears in students’ responses in school learning settings (Kroma, 1995). Some research studies support the importance of implementing contextualized education as a means to enhance the curriculum’s relevance. For example, studies made in Swaziland (linking science to everyday life) show that students’ interest in learning is stimulated by contexts with which there are perceived to be immediate, or future, personal links. The results also show that students’ interest is increased by contexts in which they perceive themselves as “experts” (e.g. Lubben et al., 1996). One way of achieving this curricula contextualization, and hence increasing its relevance, is through the use of LK. Local Knowledge Systems are viewed as indispensable knowledge because, among other things, they are rooted in the context from which they arise. Local Knowledge is more concrete while modern knowledge is built on more general abstractions.


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c.

One of the objectives of vocational education is to provide skills for self-employment in the local community and to produce “middlemen”. This implies that the students/graduates should be able to relate to people of the society at the grassroots level. These students/graduates will be in a better position to interact with the community by being knowledgeable about LKS. One reason being that understanding and using local terminologies and classifications ensures a better communication process between them and the community. Furthermore, local people are more likely to participate in projects that build on and use LK because they will be able to retain control over the processes that affect them. In other words, these interactions between the vocational education students/ graduates and their society could be more meaningful and beneficial if they (the students/graduates) are familiar with the local knowledge existing in that community (Warren et al., 1996). d. There is now an increasing awareness about the fact that LKS represent invaluable national and global resources. There are some authors who even refer to that kind of knowledge as “cultural capital” (e.g., Berkes and Folke, 1992 cited in Warren et al., 1996:3). But these resources are diminishing rapidly and are being depleted by various forces of modernization. One of these forces is represented by the school. The school is one of the institutions which can originate rapid cultural changes in a local community. Schooling may be said to undermine LK in 3 ways: First, it fails to put forward LK as worthwhile subject matter for the learning process. Second, it limits the exposure of children to the local knowledge of their communities. Third, it can create attitudes in children that militate against the acquisition of LK. The result of this kind of negative attitude has been a devaluation and disregard of local knowledge. It is important, then, to encourage and promote greater knowledge of, and respect for, LK by students. One way of achieving this is through the incorporation and use of LK into the curricula (Warren, et al., 1996). Incorporation of LKS into the Curricula: The inclusion of LKS into the vocational education curricula may be achieved through different ways. Those ways could be classified into two major categories:

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1. THOSE WHICH DON’T NECESSARILY MEAN THE INCLUSION OF A NEW SUBJECT MATTER, as we know it, are dedicated rather to the reorientation of existing relevant subjects, e.g., science, social studies, physical and health education, religious studies, literature, agriculture, family living, language, history, and home economics, including arts and crafts (e.g. Warren, et al., 1996). Within this category we can find several variations: 1.1

The use of Local Knowledge to illustrate, introduce scientific concepts and inquiry procedures, and to assess student comprehension of the concepts. For example: a.

b.

c.

The use of traditional units of measures. Time and physical space are categorized differently by different cultures. Farmers usually have their own local measures and farm units which they use in determining, for example, quantities of food produced and area cultivated. These measures may be at variance with the measures taught at schools. For example, in some cultures (e.g. the Bono in Ghana) their time framework is not rigidly clock-oriented, and they are commonly tied to the length of time required for a particular activity (Fink, 1980). The task would be to be able to isolate the abstract elements associated with common practices and transfer these abstractions to other activities. Mathematics problems could be based upon local skills, such as determining the amount of fertilizer to use, areas of fields, and the amount of seed needed to plant a field. Scientific concepts and examples related to chemistry and physics could be drawn from Local Knowledge also. For example, the use of animal traction as a means to explain Newton’s laws of motion; traditional irrigation systems as a means to explain gravity; traditional stoves as a means to explain heat transfer; preparation of pesticides as a mean to explain concentration of solutions, and so on.

One procedure for obtaining and using these scientific concepts and examples could be via direct interactions with the community. Through this kind of interaction not only could the community itself, in fact, become a major instrument of education, but it could


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also help to foster children’s self-confidence and self-reliance by arousing vocational interests and teaching practical skills, and by helping to make intelligible the social and economic changes which their communities are undergoing (Ingle and Turner, 1981; Lubben et al., 1996). A good example of how this kind of interaction may be carried out in a community has been described by Haden (1973). A group of students in a school in North-Western Uganda, remembering that a particular tribe held the monopoly of iron-smelting, made contact with the elders of the tribe and persuaded them to pass on to them what had been a jealously-guarded secret. A furnace was [built] at the school by one group of students under the guidance of the elders, while another group looked into the supply of raw materials, discovering as they did so, a highly complex pattern of trading in ore and finished iron goods. Not only was iron produced successfully at the school, but what had started as a simple example of chemical reduction, finished up with the pupils appreciating the role of the smiths in the cultural milieu of the tribe. The students who at first had been inclined to look down on the tribal elders, came to realize how skilled they were in many ways, and how rich their own cultural environment was. (cited in Ingle and Turner, 1981:366)

Making use of these kind of activities will allow the local knowledge to be capitalized on, instead of being regarded as a “tiresome or irrelevant impediment” to education (Ingle and Turner, 1981). 1.2

Local Knowledge could also be used to compare and contrast local systems with their global counterparts. One example is the comparison between the local soil classification/ management and the systems used by scientists (Warren et al., 1996). In this kind of comparison it is important to remember that the purpose is not to show that a system is superior to the other, but to show that each one has its own strengths and weaknesses depending on the context in which it is used.

There is an interesting example of this kind of comparison developed in a higher education environment. In this case the example is referred to the establishment at an University campus (Central Luzon State University Philippines) of an integrated aquaculture-vegetables-fruitrice-ducks farming system.

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It was arranged to have the farmer replicate this system on the university campus for several purposes: to sensitize the faculty to the value of LK and provide them an opportunity to study it close hand, to encourage a greater knowledge of and respect for LK by students, and to establish a living laboratory for further action research on this integrated system itself. The farmer who had developed the system, a fellow with four years of formal schooling, was awarded an adjunct professor status and conducted seminars for faculty and students. (Compton, 1989:24)

As mentioned above, this kind of activity will help to understand the comparative strengths and weaknesses (congruence and incongruence) within each system. 1.3

Developing special projects (e.g. extra-curricular activities) with the students. For example, forming clubs (Local Knowledge, Biodiversity, etc.). This will help to expose youth to the nature and utility of Local Knowledge at an early stage in their learning through different and attractive modes. An illustration of this kind of special project is the “Foxfire Project” implemented in Rabun Gap, Georgia, USA. In this project, high school students were turned into active and highly motivated journalists, charged with the task of recording and reporting through a school newspaper-journal series of 10 books, the indigenouslyderived knowledge of their grandparents on a wide range of topics or subject areas such as agriculture, medicine, carpentry, food preservation, and cottage industries. Not only was this knowledge recorded and thereby preserved for posterity, but also widely shared around the area and even throughout the country. Also, importantly, there was a closing of the generation gap as young people began to understand the wealth of knowledge and skills possessed by their aging forbearers and to develop a higher degree of respect for their grandparents and for their own cultural roots. (Compton, 1989:27)

2. THOSE METHODS WHICH REQUIRE THE INCLUSION OF A NEW SUBJECT MATTER INTO THE CURRICULA. An example would be the inclusion of a special comprehensive course called “environmental science”. According to the people who recommend these kinds of courses, single-subject and environmental science


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courses are diametrically opposed to each other. In the single-subject approach, they continue saying, the learner looks first to the subject and only then considers the “applications”. In environmental science courses, on the other hand, the learner starts from “where he is” and then proceeds to study particular topics which may contain elements of biology, chemistry, physics, and other disciplines (Ingle and Turner, 1981). It is important to mention that the majority of authors who have discussed the contextualization of education and the inclusion of LKS agree on saying that LKS should not be made a separate subject; instead they recommend that it should be integrated into the existing curricula (e.g., Kroma, 1995; Warren et al., 1996). Issues to be Considered During the process of inclusion and implementation of LKS into the vocational education curricula, it is important to consider several issues. For example, students are likely to make use of LK only if they perceive that it improves or at least maintains their status among their peers. As Lubben et al. (1996) point out, status provides both a problem and an opportunity in regard to Local Knowledge in education. The problem is the normally lower status of LK compared with school knowledge which might lead to resistance to educational courses incorporating LK. However, experiences have shown that this problem is less significant than might be expected, provided there is no concomitant loss in academic rigor. The opportunity in regard to status lies, they argue, in the possibility that the high status of some courses (e.g. science) may rub off onto any LK used in teaching these subjects. In other words, the use and analysis of Local Knowledge may become something acceptable by students if it is couched in the context of high-status courses. Therefore, vocational education attempting to incorporate elements of LK should take into account the attitudes arising from the structures and principles of control in a society (Lubben et al., 1996). Conclusions, Implications, and Recommendations: The incorporation of LKS’s elements into the vocational education curricula is one of the important factors which could contribute to enhance the relevance of this kind of curricula. There is the need, then, to find ways and means to forge a workable synthesis between the current Westernized vocational education curricula and LKS in developing countries. The integration between those systems of

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knowledge, recognized by some authors as “complementary sources of wisdom”, will help to make the curricula more pragmatic, meaningful, and purposeful for the students. This could help to diminish the high “drop-out” rate that exists in schools and it could also help to improve the self-image of students who will learn the contributions of their own communities to knowledge (Warren et al., 1996). The efforts to integrate Local Knowledge into existing vocational education curricula have several important implications at different levels (Ingle and Turner, 1981; Lubben et al., 1996; Warren et al., 1996). For the inclusion of LK into the curricula to be successful, there must be a shift away from teacher-centered methods of instruction. Straightforward teaching, with an emphasis on rote-learning, cannot be an effective method of achieving this end, as the facts and ideas are simply absorbed without any process of internalization. Some sort of more active method, requiring the students to experiment, to observe, and to interpret at their level, to solve problems, and discuss, is likely to be more fruitful. •

•

•

•

There is a need for experimenting with a variety of extra-curricular activities which rely heavily on LK such as Local Knowledge clubs, seminars, community to community exchanges, etc. There is need to document and study the Local Knowledge existing in the community around different disciplines like physics, chemistry, mathematics, etc. This will require educational research led by an inter-disciplinary research team, comprised of science educators, psychologists, sociologists, ethnologists, and anthropologists. There is need to find out whether there exists any LK related materials in the library of each vocational school, as this will reveal the adequacy or other state of LK reading materials. This will require specialists from various disciplines to work together in order to review the literature available on LKS (if any). In their various fields the specialists are to sieve the LKS that are relevant in their own fields. There is a need to research the viability of both preservice and inservice teacher educational programs that could bring about the bridging between the western type of knowledge and Local Knowledge. These preservice and inservice programs should be accompanied by a variety of teaching materials, e.g., teaching, user-friendly training manuals, etc.

Vocational Education in Developing Countries •

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Links between the community, its LKS, and the educational processes also require a participative research design involving teachers, students, and other stakeholders in the community (e.g., village elders, “experts”). There is a need to analyze the national education policy in order to make the necessary changes that would allow the promotion of LK integration into the educational system.

Endnote 1. The term Local Knowledge is used in this chapter as a synonym for Indigenous Knowledge (the term more commonly used in the literature). References Baimba, Andrew (1993). Innovation in a science curriculum: A Sierra Leone case study. In International Journal of Science Education 15 (2), 213–219. Baker, David (1995). The effect of culture on the learning of science in non-western countries: The results of an integrated research review. In International Journal of Science Education 17 (6), 695–704. Compton, J.Lin. (1989). Strategies and Methods for the access, integration, and utilization of IK in agriculture and rural development. In D.Michael Warren, L.Jan Slikkerveer, and S.Oguntunji Titilola (Eds.) Indigenous Knowledge Systems: Implications for Agriculture and International Development, Studies in Technology and Social Change Series N-11 (pp. 21– 32). Ames, Iowa, USA: Iowa State University. Fink, Deborah R. (1980). The Bono Concept of Measure: An Essential Factor in Formal and Nonformal Educational Programs. In David Brokensha, D.Michael Warren, and Oswald Werner (Eds.), Indigenous Knowledge Systems and Development (pp. 245–269). Boston, USA: University Press of America. Haverkort, Bertus (1994). Agricultural Development with a Focus on Local Resources: ILEIA’s View on Indigenous Knowledge. In D. Michael Warren, L.Jan Slikkerveer, and David Brokensha (Eds.), Indigenous Knowledge Systems: The Cultural Dimensions of Development (pp. 454–457). London: Intermediate Technology. Ingle, Richard B. and Anthony D.Turner (1981). Science Curricula

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as Cultural Misfits. European Journal of Science Education 3 (4), 357–371. Kroma, Siaka (1995). Popularizing Science Education in Developing countries: Educational policy, curriculum development, and teacher training. Draft Pre-proposal. Ames, Iowa, USA: CIKARD, Iowa State University. Lubben, Fred, Bob Campbell, and Betty Dlamini (1996). Contextualizing science teaching in Swaziland: Some student reactions. In International Journal of Science Education 18 (3), 311–320. Röling, Niels and Paul Engel (1989). LKS and Knowledge Management: Utilizing Indigenous Knowledge in Institutional Knowledge Systems. In Warren, D.Michael, L.Jan Slikkerveer, and S. Oguntunji Titilola (Eds.) Indigenous Knowledge Systems: Implications for Agriculture and International Development. Studies in Technology and Social Change Series N-11 (pp. 101– 115). Ames, Iowa, USA: Iowa State University. Warren, D.Michael, Layi Egunjobi, and Bolanle Wahaab (Eds.), (1996). Indigenous Knowledge in Education. Proceedings of a Regional Workshop on Integration of Indigenous Knowledge into Nigerian Education Curriculum. Nigeria: Indigenous Knowledge Study Group, University of Ibadan.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Indigenous Knowledge, Historical Amnesia and Intellectual Authority: Deconstructing Hegemony and the Social and Political Implications of the Curricular “Other” Frances V.Rains Semali and Kincheloe stress the need for both an articulation and understanding of indigenous knowledge. Yet, to examine indigenous knowledge in isolation is to perpetuate a paradigm contrary to most indigenous knowledge. That is, to begin to understand indigenous knowledge it is imperative to not objectify it, but rather to understand as well, how hegemony, status quo, intellectual authority, and historical amnesia have combined to create an atmosphere that so readily refuses to consider knowledge not derived from within a closed system. It is an interesting system, this “Western”1 knowledge production— it is self-contained, self-sustaining, handy, convenient, and even tinged with a sense of righteousness. It has certainly worked. Hermetically sealed, the closed system of “Western” knowledge production has been institutionalized, in a matter of several hundred years, to such a degree as to dismiss indigenous knowledges based on thousands of years of experience, analysis, and reflection as primitive (Allen, 1989; Deloria, 1997; Harjo & Bird, 1997). It is this system, this intellectual apartheid, that merits examination in how it operates in conjunction with historical amnesia to deny indigenous knowledge. What follows is my effort as an indigenous woman to deconstruct the hegemony of the “Western” intellectual apartheid and examine some of the implications it has for the curricular “Other.” By the time the Homeless Boat people2 arrived 500 years ago our ancestors had already occupied this land for over a millennium.3 Over a millennium, we had been the caregivers of the land with all the

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responsibilities that being a caregiver entails—an understanding, a respect, a valuing of the lives of all the living things under our care. So our ancestors were unprepared for what was to come. When these strangers came, our ancestors gave them shelter. Our ancestors fed them and treated them as our ancestors would any guests into our homes. Our ancestors assumed that these homeless boat people would behave respectfully and with a sense of honor and justice. Instead, our Peoples have been witness to 500 years of devastation and destruction of all that had once been kept in gentle balance and rich abundance for over a 1,000 years. The Cree (First Nations People Of Canada) have a saying about this. Only after the last tree has been cut down Only after the last river has been poisoned Only after the last fish has been caught Only then will you realize that your money cannot be eaten. I am Choctaw/Cherokee & Japanese. I stand on the shoulders of many strong and courageous Indian women who found ways to resist practices meant to destroy them and their cultures. There were women like Sarah Winnemucca, a Paiute woman who became the first woman chief of her nation, for her acts of bravery (Green, 1992; Jaimes & Halsey, 1992; Steer, 1996). When her people, the Paiutes, were wrongly uprooted and relocated for the fourth time in less than 5 years—each move being farther and farther away from the homelands in Nevada— she bravely traveled alone all the way from Oregon, where her people were being held, to Washington, D.C. There, she was received by the President, and secured a presidential order demanding that her people be returned to Nevada, their original homelands before the recent relocations. However, her small victory was to be short-lived, as the corrupt Indian agents, backed by the local military, refused to let the Paiutes return home. It was then, in the 1870s, that she went on the lecture circuit in the east, in an attempt to bring public awareness to the injustices her people were encountering. She wrote a book published in 1883, Life Among the Paiutes: Their Wrongs and Claims, becoming the first American Indian woman to publish a book. There were women like Suzette La Flesche, an educated O-ma-ha woman, and her sister Susan, who was the first female Indian physician (Green, 1992; Steer, 1996). These two sisters went on the lecture circuit in the 1880s, in order to bring to light how Indians were not “persons”

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in the U.S. legal system, meaning that no Indian could expect protection under the law.4 They talked about the breaking of treaties, the theft of Indian lands under the General Allotment Act, and the corruption among government agents to abuse, cheat, and starve their people. As an indigenous woman, I draw strength from these women whose spirits and hearts were strong. They stood before their oppressors with the dignity of truth and insights that their positioning as “Other” gave them, and in so doing attempted to bridge the chasm of ignorance, the crevasse of complacency, over 100 years ago. As an American Indian educator concerned with indigenous knowledge and its role in the curriculum of the academy, I think this historical background and the cultural dynamics that accompany it should be subjects of study for all students seeking a higher education. In this context, I want to share my concerns about indigenous knowledge, historical amnesia, intellectual authority, and the purposes of education. How these issues are addressed exerts a profound influence on our survival as various sovereign Native Nations. • •

•

•

• • • •

•

Our cultures are under attack by “culture vultures” (BoutrosGhali, 1994; Rose, 1992); Our indigenous knowledges developed over the millennium are discounted and dismissed by those with the intellectual authority (Deloria, 1997); Our sacred Mother Earth’s ecological balance is now in jeopardy (Deloria, 1997; Guerrero, 1992; Native American Council of New York City, 1994); Our relations—the winged ones, four legged and water creatures that have survived the assaults upon their habitats, their ways of life, are now in peril; Our struggles for justice have been denied (Menchú, 1994); Our defense of our ways of life have been invalidated; Our histories have been erased by the intellectual authority vested in the dominant and the powerful (Hu-DeHart, 1992); Our history has been reconstructed, remade in such a fashion that We, the Sovereign Nations of this land, our rich histories, our contributions to medicine, our innovative crop development, our environmentally friendly architectural designs have been appropriated; Our ways of respecting and keeping the balance in Nature, scoffed at, and demeaned as child-like and uncivilized;

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•

What is Indigenous Knowledge? Our physical presence denied and made invisible when we have tried to speak, yet that same presence is acknowledged for the promotion of an academic industry otherwise known as Anthropology; Our historic images co-opted into romanticized mythic images to promote a false sense of Euro-centric nobility because of its appeal to the guilt-ridden and unconscious sense of a more accurate history.

The noble savage and the Indian princess are poignant figures in a U.S. tragedy. Images embedded in the American psyche as a substitute for truth, as a substitute for the sometimes vicious, ugly reality of how this Land was stolen (Bird, 1996). Images that would rather be forgotten in a society that promotes living as pain-free lives as possible. Images so embedded in historical amnesia that contemporary Native lives, contemporary Native struggles against all of the forces of cooptation, objectification, and commercialization can be ignored. As an American Indian educator and scholar, I was vividly struck by the intensive commercialization that preceded the debut of the recent Disney animated film, Pocahontas. Interestingly, the arrival of this very popular, yet inaccurate, animated production, coincided with the U.S. House of Representatives and Senate’s elimination of the Office of Indian Education, thereby pouring concrete into the narrow pipeline of higher education for many American Indian graduate students across the nation. As I began to reflect upon these matters and their social/political relationships, my training in curriculum studies fueled questions regarding the “Other” in curriculum. Whose knowledge counts? Who decides? And what happens to the knowledge that is disseminated? How is the “Other” taught? What are non-indigenous people taught about the “Other?” Perhaps, because I work in elementary education, I am very concerned with how children begin to learn, process, and understand their world. What was so appalling to me about Disney’s Pocahontas was the way in which a woman, a very real woman’s life was, first, distorted! Secondly, how not only that distortion, but also the intense commercialization and objectification of a real person could be so abused, and NO ONE would be outraged! That a historic figure, whatever her actual role in events could be so caricatured—placed next to Winnie The Pooh, Batman and Power Rangers, cartoon characters—on backpacks, napkins, sleeping bags, and slippers. And do you believe it? She even got her very own chocolate bar.5


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A new stereotype is born—voila!—an Indian woman figure in the image of a Barbie. The ideal “Indian princess,” I mean how lucky can we get? Every white girl wants to now be Pocahontas. What a concept! A true reversal of the white beauty thing or is it just a Barbie-type image with darker complexion? The stereotype of the “Indian princess” with a Barbie body made all the more “real” (in a surrealistic sort of way) by the animated film. Pocahontas was objectified to the point that people think of the cartoon character version as the real thing. So that when I, as an American Indian scholar, try to dispel the stereotypes—when I say that she was only 10 when she met John Smith, when I say that if there had been any kind of male/female relationship between this 35 year old man and this young girl, then it would have more likely been akin to rape than romance. If she had really saved his life, then why did he wait until after her death at the age of 22, to extol her virtues as a heroine? When in real life, she was used as a living advertisement to promote the safe living in the latest housing addition. “Oh, you’ve probably heard all about it? You know, it’s over on the other side of the ocean. Go south, and at midAtlantic turn right. Can’t miss it! Yeah, that’s right, the Virginia Colony!” I can hear them now…“Hey, look what we brought—a real live Indian! Yeah! See? Look how tame such savages are. They can be Christianized. They can be civilized. Why its so safe….” Why, then, would her heroic deed of saving our Captain John go unmentioned? A fact that would have had exponentially exploitive benefits as an advertisement, while she was alive. Instead, I argue that it is quite possible that John Smith made up the entire story (Associated Press, 1995). Over 100 years prior to his visit three Portuguese sailors had been taken prisoner by the indigenous people of Florida. And, having already killed two, the third one’s life was saved by the daughter of the chief. This real story being translated from Portuguese into English eight years before John Smith sailed for the new lands (Associated Press, 1995). But when I share such insights as an indigenous person, I am often dismissed. I am not believed. Perhaps, it is as Standing Rock Lakota scholar, Vine Deloria, Jr. suggests: The realities of Indian belief and existence have become so misunderstood and distorted at this point that when a real Indian stands up and speaks the truth at any given moment he or she is not only unlikely to be believed, but will probably be contradicted and ‘corrected’ by the citation

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of some non-Indian and totally inaccurate ‘expert.’ (as cited in Rose, 1992, p. 404)

And so, when I tire from not being heard, not being listened to, I move from the adults to the children. They are, after all, the future, the last, best hope of survival for this planet. I have been invited many times to come into elementary (and secondary) classrooms. Now you have to understand, that as Indians, we are very popular from Halloween to Thanksgiving. It’s sort of an unofficial Indian history month within the social studies curriculum of many elementary classrooms around the country. And when I walk in, almost without exception, some child will say, “you’re not an indian!” To which I ask, “Oh, why not?” And, invariably, the reply comes. “…Because they are all dead “…Because you’re not dressed right!” (read: I don’t look like Pocahontas, or some Lakota woman from Dances with Wolves.) “…Because you are not wearing moccasins!” (Ah! Of course!) “Because your hair is not braided—no headband!” “Do you eat dirt?” “Do you eat bugs?” Now, these are the initial responses I get in classrooms where I am invited to speak. That is, these are the classrooms where the teachers are enlightened enough to invite a “real live Indian.” Unfortunately, it is often in such classrooms that I will also walk in and see the tepee set up to honor the Indians at Thanksgiving. Never mind that the Indians who met the misguided and misinformed Pilgrims did not live in tepees. Tepees were, after all, mobile homes. And the Indians in the East had plentiful small game and fish, and were also farmers, and so, had no use for mobile homes. So, I asked myself, what is it about how we teach about the “Other” that might be contributing to this incredible ignorance. For me, as an educator, it was a small leap to see how these early formed stereotypes and misinformation are perpetuated not only in elementary classrooms but are also reinforced in textbooks. One of the assignments I give my future teachers involves critically analyzing contemporary elementary social studies textbooks. And they are shocked. It hasn’t changed. “Bloody savages,” “kidnapping unsuspecting, (and innocent), virgin, pioneer women,” “scalpers,” “ruthless” and a couple of battles, and then, POOF! We are absent from the remainder of the curriculum. It would be akin to leaving off the study of African Americans with the end of slavery.


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American Indian people are never brought into the 20th century. According to the text books, Native peoples did all die with the last of the Indian “Wars!” Such omissions—like the entire 20th century, like the vast diversity that has, and continues to exist among the Sovereign Indian Nations—are grounded in a historical amnesia that has forgotten the indigenous peoples and the indigenous knowledges that exists. There is no collective memory in this country. And that, to me, is national tragedy. And it is my perspective that historical amnesia is perpetuated by an intellectual authority that does not respect/value or validate indigenous knowledge. The sovereign Native Nations here in the United States have been oral cultures. It was our word that was important. Memory was what mattered most, the ability to remember in accurate detail and tone of voice. In the case of Pocahontas and those who had early contact with the European invaders, their voices were lost. Their memories were not allowed to be passed on by a new government that had appropriated their democratic format of speaking up and having a say from the Iroquois Confederacy—although it seems something had been lost in the translation. That which was a democracy for the Iroquois Confederacy was translated by founding fathers into a democracy only for some. It was not a democracy where all the voices were heard, although the founding fathers had certainly observed all voices being heard in the Iroquois Confederacy, where women’s voices were as respected much as the men’s. This was compounded by the fact that most of the contact with Native Nations occurred with white men. You know, my People, the Cherokee, have a story that has been passed down about how when the white men first came, and met up with the Cherokee, the tribe was ruled by a woman “chief” (“Beloved Woman,” head of the Council of Women), a great woman leader. She had heard that boat people were arriving. And to not be unkind, she sent some emissaries to greet these new guests. But the emissaries returned, stating that they could not meet with these new people. When the Beloved Woman, head of the Council of Women, asked why? The emissaries told her that these strangers had forgotten half their people! That is, they had brought none of their women! And, how could a civilized nation conduct business with a group of people who were so ignorant as to forget half their community?

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I share this story as a way of saying that women have always held an important place in Indian communities. Yet, as Dr. John Mohawk (1996) maintains, there were rules. Gender roles were fairly distinct, often with separate activities that were just for women, or just for men. And in such times, men—and especially, not these new and strangely sick-looking, white men—were not allowed, were not privy to women’s societies, or to women’s activities.

So, what does all of this have to do with what I have been talking about? In my indigenous way, I am attempting to bring you back to historical amnesia and intellectual authority. When the dominant group does not value the means of communication of the oppressed, which is often the case in such power differentials, then it is likely that much of what the subaltern group knows is lost to the powerful, or as I like to say, lost on the powerful. Consequently, when a group that only values the written word confronts and oppresses a group with an oral culture, then the knowledge or understandings that the oral culture maintains and is responsible for are not valued or shared. History, then, is free to be written by those with the pens. And, in visiting many Sovereign Indian Nations, the writers were men…meaning they had little to no contact with Indian women. Hence, we will never know what Pocahontas was really like because her words were not valued, respected, or honored. Her memories, while passed down by her own people, were not shared with those in positions of intellectual authority. And had they been able to hear her words, it is quite likely that they would have dismissed her thoughts as they did of most white women in that time period. I argue that the social ramifications of the historical amnesia and intellectual authority are many and costly. In education the social implications are powerful and damning. For Indian children like myself growing up, it means having your culture assaulted by teachers so ignorant of your culture, history, and the indigenous knowledge that you bring, that you can not, even as a child, believe these “teachers” are the so called “learned” ones. When I went to school, for the first time, as a first grader, I lived in an all white, rural community. I rode a country bus. I got on the bus that first day of school very excited. After all, this was my first day at school. I was now a “big” girl. From the first seat up front, to the


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where I finally found an empty seat, which was at the very end of the bus, I was spit on by every child within spitting range. My dress was soiled. My young mind shocked by such a hostile reception on a day that I had so looked forward to. I found my first grade classroom and settled in to the first day activities. And at the first recess, I went outside. The playground was covered with a thick layer of pea gravel, and the all white children surrounded me with shouts of “half-breed” and “Jap!” These were new words to me. To me, my mother was just my mother, and my father was just my father. Clearly something was wrong. And then, they started throwing the pea gravel at me, while shouting all the more. I started to sob that deep, heavy sob of little children, and then I went tearing blindly into the school to find my classroom and my teacher. I found Mrs. Pennington, so big, so white, so tall—standing there. I told her that my classmates were calling me a “Jap” and a “dirty half-breed.” She looked down at me, patted me on the head and said, “That’s okay, sweetie. That’s what you are!” The intellectual authority vested in her a sense of righteousness that allowed her to dismiss my identity, to dismiss the rich foundation of indigenous knowledge about living in and with the Natural world that I brought to school. It would be nice to say, that was a long time ago. But my nieces and nephews continue to encounter such experiences with some of their non-indigenous teachers who have historical amnesia about indigenous peoples. Further, such teachers often harbor an intellectual authority that invalidates the indigenous knowledge that these young Native children bring to class. These teachers have not been taught that there are social ramifications when historical amnesia is perpetuated, when intellectual authority denies the value or importance of indigenous knowledge. The social ramifications of historical amnesia and intellectual authority also mean that all children, Native and non-Native, are short changed when a teacher is ignorant of our histories, our rich, varied, and distinct cultures, and how our pasts, Native and non-Native, are intertwined. Our children suffer when a teacher is allowed to think that all Indians are dead leaving us—as no other ethnic group is left in United States history—locked into the last century. The ramifications of intellectual authority and historical amnesia continue when teachers assume that we, as Indian people, speak a universal, generic “Indian” language, as opposed to the over 250

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different linguistically sophisticated languages that are spoken. Historical amnesia is perpetuated when teachers think that we are “a” single, monolithic culture, instead of the many cultures we represent. There are over 550 separate, sovereign Native Nations. The social ramifications worsen, when such teachers essentialize, assuming that we are all, or should be “real” Indians. The assumption being—that we are all Plains people (no offense to my Plains friends)—riding horses, carrying tomahawks, wearing buckskins with full head-dresses, rather than realizing that even for Plains peoples—their cultures, their styles of dress, their modes of transportation—were not frozen in time. The school textbooks leaves us with the last of the Indian Wars (1880s) the place where Hollywood would prefer to keep us, thereby perpetuating, accentuating, one particular region, and one particular time period in Indian history (a.k.a. the Plains region, in the late 1880s). In addition, teachers are human and watch TV and movies—learning from the same biased cultural curriculum as their students. Such ramifications are compounded when teachers, in a misguided attempt to honor Indians, have children re-create our artifacts. I went into an elementary school where, in a hallway glass display case, there was a series of “totem poles” (having a Tlingit friend, I have become aware of much about the Tlingit culture of the Northwest Coast). I was appalled to see the paper towel rolls, with totems of Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers brightly adorning the rolls. First, I was appalled because it is teaching these children that it is okay to appropriate—completely out of context—the function, design and significance of artifacts of other cultures. Second, I find something strange about a people whose only means of learning and understanding another group, is to reproduce their artifacts. Third, I found the use of Ninja Turtle and Power Rangers to be such a distortion of the intent of totem poles that they verged on the sacrilegious. Clearly, the social ramifications of historical amnesia and intellectual authority are many. Compounding the social ramifications are the political implications of historical amnesia and intellectual authority. From my perspective as a Native scholar, the education we receive, or don’t receive is, in part, what sensitizes or desensitizes us to the current political climate and the nature of the struggles being waged by what many in Indian country call The New Indian Wars. It is not enough that our lifeblood has spilled, our lands have been taken, our food sources destroyed, our very traditions and cultures seen as obstacles to “progress”— indeed, the exploitation continues.


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I argue that these ramifications such as the ones I will share below are strongly correlated to how we are taught/not taught about Indigenous cultures. For example, if a non-Indigenous person can assume that we are all dead…then…what’s the problem? Ironically, as Wendy Rose a (Hopi/Miwok) poet suggests, even after we die, we are of exploitative value. She begins her poem entitled, “I Expected My Skin and My Blood to Ripen” with a quote: When the blizzard subsided four days later [after the Wounded Knee Massacre], a burial party was sent to Wounded Knee. A long trench was dug. Many of the bodies were stripped by whites who went out in order to get the Ghost Shirts and other accouterments the Indians wore…the frozen bodies were thrown into the trench stiff and naked. Only a handful of items remain in private hands…exposure to snow has stiffened the leggings and moccasins, and all the objects show the effects of age and long use…(items are pictured for sale that were gathered at the site of the massacre:) Moccasins at $140, hide scraper at $350, buckskin shirt at $1200, woman’s leggings at $275, bone breastplate, at $1000.

[signed]—Kenneth Canfield, 1977 Plains Indian Art Auction Catalog (Rose, 1992, p. 34) What a perverse appropriation of indigeneity. In this context we can understand that one of the political ramifications of historical amnesia and intellectual authority is the New Indian Wars. One of these wars is over our bones, our historical artifacts—the selling and collecting of which, is dehumanizing and disrespectful of the dead. But there are other New Indian Wars that are being waged against us. It is, for example, more than a bit ironic, that as this millennium draws to a close, twentieth century “explorers” are “discovering” Indian lands once more. Except now, the lands are the 2% left to us from our original land base. These new “explorers” don’t come on ships, offering beads, trinkets and blankets (covered with small pox). No, now they come dressed in suits, carrying briefcases and targeting reservations with over 50% unemployment and unbelievable poverty conditions. They come armed and ready to exploit and pollute faster than one can say Manifest Destiny. They offer quick cash, and job opportunities (not revealing that most are as janitors or other manual labor jobs). I call it the “second rape of the west,” although it is happening in the east and midwest as well.

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These modern day explorers represent toxic waste firms, the nuclear industry, oil companies, mining interests, timber operations, hydroelectric power companies, land developers, and multi-national corporations. Over fifty Sovereign Nations have been approached by toxic waste firms in just the last two years. Native Nations in Alaska, California, Washington, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Oklahoma, Mississippi, New York, Rhode Island, North Carolina, and Florida are among those that have been recently asked to be national dumping grounds for this country’s waste. To provide an understanding of present conditions, I will cite a few of the challenges facing Native Peoples in Indian Country. On Seminole land in Florida mercury pollution in the Everglades threatens fishing and food gathering, and where encroaching land developments are draining precious fresh water supplies; on the Oneida Reservation in Wisconsin PCBs, solvents, and other hazardous wastes from a paper mill pollute their water and the earth; on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming uranium mining has polluted both land and water; on the Navajo reservation in Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico, there are over 1,000 sites polluted by uranium mines or uranium milling; on the Hoopa Valley Reservation in California mine wastes and chemical contamination from lumber mills infiltrate their water supplies and affect their food crops; on the Ft. Belknap Reservation in Montana chemical pollution from nearby gold mines threatens the health of the people; and on, and on, and on. As if these are not enough to worry about, there are also burial grounds issues, sacred land issues, fishing rights issues, water rights issues, treaty violations, new age spiritual hucksters, and cultural impersonators. In other words, the political ramifications of historical amnesia and intellectual authority are many. As an indigenous educator and scholar I am gravely concerned that when we fail to include sophisticated understandings of indigenous knowledge in the curriculum, when we fail to teach well, when we fall prey to historical amnesia, when we buy into the contemporary intellectual authority, we are granting jurisdiction over our complacency within the status quo. The time has come. We are on the brink of a new millennium. It is essential that indigenous knowledge be acknowledged as legitimate and valuable, but just as importantly, it is crucial to understand how it can be denied, for therein lies the power to consider change, to consider social justice, as well as the social and


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political ramifications of a hegemony composed of historical amnesia and intellectual authority. Let no child suffer the consequences of our ignorance, the consequences of our inertia about indigenous knowledge, and how it too often is relegated to the status of “Other.” It is time we learn our collective history. What responsibility do each of us regardless of our backgrounds possess to become allies for each other in our struggles to prevent those with the intellectual authority to discount and dismiss indigenous knowledge? Finally, what kind of social, political, and ecological world shall we leave for the children, and their children, and their children’s children? Endnotes 1. 0The use of the term “Western” has been appropriated by EuroAmericans to represent their paradigms, behaviors and ways of life. This leaves the Native Nations, who have occupied this land mass “west” of Britain over 10,000 years, little choice but to consider our paradigms, behaviors and ways of life as “nonWestern.” This is an irony that is not lost on us, given that on our own land we are held as invisible hostages of an intellectual apartheid imported from EAST of our shores. 2. Europeans escaping religious domination, exploring in the name of religion and country; and hunting for new resources. 3. The talk that follows was a keynote address given at the First Indigenous Knowledge Conference at The Pennsylvania State University, April 17, 1996. 4. American Indians did not receive citizenship until 1994. Until that time, Indians for the most part, were deemed “wards” of the Federal Government. As such, they did not have the rights that so many citizens draw upon when an injustice prevails. 5. Nestlé came out with a Pocahontas promotional chocolate bar. On the wrapper was a picture of both John smith and Pocahontas. References Allen, P.G. (1989). Spider woman’s granddaughters: Traditional tales and contemporary writing by Native American women. Boston: Beacon Press.

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Associated Press. (1995, July 14). Recovering History: Florida site of real Pocahontas saga. Bird, S.E. (1996). Introduction: Constructing the Indian, 1830s–1990s. In S.E.Bird (Ed.), Dressing in feathers: The construction of the Indian in American popular culture, (pp. 1–12). Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Boutros-Ghali, B. (1994). Foreword. In A.Ewen (Ed.), Voice of indigenous peoples: Native people address the United Nations, (pp. 9–15). Santa Fe: Clear Light Publishers. Deloria, V., Jr. (1997). Red earth: White lies: Native Americans and the myth of scientific fact. Golden, CO: Fulcrum Publishing. Green, R. (1992). Women in American Indian society. New York: Chelsea House Publishers. Guerrero, M. (1992). American Indian water rights: The blood of life in Native North America. In M.A.Jaimes (Ed.), The state of Native America: Genocide, colonization & resistance, (pp. 189– 216). Boston: South End Press. Harjo, J. & Bird, G. (1997). Reinventing the enemy’s language: Contemporary Native women’s writings of North America. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. Hu-DeHart, E. (1992). Preface: The state of Native America. In M.A. Jaimes (Ed.), The state of Native America: Genocide, colonization & resistance, (pp. ix–x). Boston: South End Press. Jaimes, M.A. & Halsey, T. (1992). American Indian women: At the center of indigenous resistance in contemporary North America. In M. A.Jaimes (Ed.), The state of Native America: Genocide, colonization & resistance, (pp. 311–344). Boston: South End Press. Menchú, R. (1994). Preface. In A.Ewen (Ed.), Voice of indigenous peoples: Native people address the United Nations, (pp. 16– 18). Santa Fe: Clear Light Publishers. Mohawk, J. (1996). Speech to the Interinstitutional Consortium of Indigenous Knowledge Conference, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA. Native American Council of New York City (1994). Introduction: An indigenous worldview. In A.Ewen (Ed.), Voice of indigenous peoples: Native people address the United Nations, (pp. 19– 27). Santa Fe: Clear Light Publishers. Rose, W. (1992). The great pretenders: Further reflections on whiteshamanism. In M.A.Jaimes (Ed.), The state of Native America:


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Genocide, colonization & resistance, (pp. 403–421). Boston: South End Press. Rose, W. (1992). I expected my skin and my blood to ripen. In B.Slapin & D.Seale (Eds.), Through Indian eyes: The Native experience in books for children, (pp. 34–35). Philadelphia: New Society Publishers. Steer, D. (1996). Native American women. New York: Barnes & Noble Books. Winnemucca Hopkins, S. (1969). Life among the Paiutes: Their wrongs and claims. Bishop, CA: Chalfant Press, Inc. [Original work published in 1883]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Indigenous Knowledge: An Interpretation of Views from Indigenous Peoples1 Marcel Viergever2 Introduction In recent years, we have witnessed a growing interest in traditional or indigenous knowledge. Some of this interest is purely academic. Some of it is spurred by the promise of possible applications of this knowledge. The knowledge of traditional and indigenous communities concerning characteristics of plants and herbs, particularly medicinal plants, is considered useful in promoting the sustainable use or exploitation of biological resources. As the use or exploitation of biological resources has become much more feasible as a result of evolutions in biotechnology, the exploration of biodiversity for commercially valuable genetic and biochemical resources is seen by some as a possible key to biodiversity conservation. Agreements are being promoted between indigenous communities and industries, mainly pharmaceutical industries, in the hope that some of the knowledge held by indigenous peoples may lead to commercial applications. What is often ignored, though, is that indigenous knowledge is not only “useful”: it is of critical importance to the survival of indigenous communities. Knowledge about biodiversity and agricultural practices is often the basis of their food security, their health care, their livelihoods. In response to the growing interest in indigenous knowledge, indigenous peoples have tried to formulate their own definitions of indigenous knowledge, to identify strategies to conserve the social structures through which that knowledge is generated, and to protect it from appropriation by others. In 1993, the nine tribes of the region known as the Bay of Plenty (Mataatua) in New Zealand convened and hosted the “First International Conference on the Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights of Indigenous Peoples.” A similar meeting was organized by aboriginals in Julayinabul, Australia. Still, in the

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same year, an informal network of indigenous peoples was created on issues related to indigenous knowledge and biodiversity conservation: the Indigenous Peoples Biodiversity Network (IPBN). In 1994 and 1995, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) supported, in response to the recommendations of a report it had commissioned from the Rural Advancement Foundation International (RAFI), three regional meetings on the preservation of indigenous knowledge. The purpose of these meetings was to give indigenous peoples the opportunity to discuss among themselves ways to preserve their knowledge. The first of these regional meetings was held in Bolivia and was organized by the Coordinadora de las Organizaciones Indígenas de la Cuenca Amazónica (COICA). The second meeting was held in Malaysia and was organized jointly by Partners of Community Organizations (PACOS), based in Malaysia, and a Philippine organization, South East Asia Regional Institute for Community Education (SEARICE). The third meeting was organized by Pacific Concerns Resource Centre (PCRC) in Fiji in April 1995. The results of these meetings will be used to try to construct a definition and to identify measures to conserve this knowledge for future generations. Definition Several scientists have tried to define indigenous knowledge. Most of these attempts take as their point of departure “scientific” knowledge and focus on the differences between scientific and indigenous knowledge. Three schools of thought can be distinguished (Agrawal, 1995). The first one stresses differences in the subject matters for research. The second school of thought argues that the main differences are based on contextual grounds, as indigenous knowledge is more deeply rooted in communities’ environments. And the third school of thought focuses on the differences in methodologies used to conduct research. Agrawal, in the same article, argues that none of these distinctions can be defended; that, in other words, there exists no substantial difference between indigenous and scientific knowledge (Agrawal, 1995). Judging from the number of reactions to that article (see Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor Vol. 4, issue 1, 1996), that view is highly controversial. As Robert A.Benfer and Louanna Furbee contest: “Andean peasant farmers in one village and herders in another have little difficulty in making this distinction [between indigenous and scientific/Western knowledge] (Benfer &

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Furbee, 1996). Indeed, there can be no doubt that traditional communities possess another type of knowledge than urban communities in Western or Westernized societies. The point is, however, that we should not focus on bits of specific knowledge, but rather on the generation of knowledge. What matters in the longer-term is the continuation of a system that has shown to be able to generate knowledge that differs from the knowledge generated by the “scientific” knowledge system; a system that has developed alternative solutions for several local problems. Perhaps these solutions are not as “sophisticated” as the solutions developed by the scientific system, but often they are equally effective and environmentally more sustainable. But let us first turn to the conclusions and recommendations of indigenous peoples. As a point of order, it should be said that indigenous knowledge is interpreted here as the knowledge of indigenous peoples.3 This is not as irrelevant as it may seem. In most articles and studies on indigenous knowledge, indigenous simply means traditional or local. The difference between traditional and indigenous peoples’ communities is that indigenous peoples’ communities, despite the pressure to integrate within the larger society of the national states of which they are a part, still have their own distinct cultures. Local communities, on the other hand, usually do not have a cultural identity that sets them apart from the larger society, or at least not to the same extent as in the case of indigenous peoples’ communities. The meetings in Bolivia, Malaysia, and Fiji only gathered representatives of indigenous peoples’ organizations or communities. Although none of the meetings explicitly defined indigenous knowledge, the recommendations and conclusions give us some useful building blocks for a definition (see Annex I). Analysis of these conclusions reveals three basic principles: 1. Biodiversity and a people’s knowledge are concepts inherent in the idea of indigenous territoriality (meeting: Bolivia). 2. Integral indigenous territoriality, its recognition (or restoration), and its reconstitution are prerequisites for enabling the creative and inventive genius of each indigenous people to flourish and for it to be meaningful to speak of protecting such peoples (meeting Bolivia). Land, in particular native customary or ancestral lands, is significant to indigenous peoples because it is the source of their

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3.

What is Indigenous Knowledge? livelihood and the base of their indigenous knowledge, spiritual, and cultural traditions (meeting: Malaysia). For members of indigenous peoples, knowledge and determination of the use of resources are collective and intergenerational (meeting: Bolivia).

All three meetings linked indigenous knowledge with the physical and social environment. This was most explicitly expressed in a statement made at the meeting in Bolivia. This statement introduces the term “territoriality”. This is perhaps best translated by what geographers call “conceptually bounded spaces”. It has a physical dimension—a bounded space—but it also has a social dimension. The territory in question is perceived as distinct because of social aspects of its inhabitants. Indigenous territoriality links, in other words, the physical aspects of a bounded space with the social, cultural, political, and economic aspects of indigenous communities living in that space. Hence, indigenous knowledge is seen by indigenous peoples as an inherent part of, on the one hand, their physical environment and, on the other hand, their social structures. It seems fairly obvious that knowledge of the physical environment depends on the characteristics of that environment. Also, the knowledge communities have is likely to depend on whether they are, for example, farmers, hunters, or pastoralists. Some knowledge is closely related with religious beliefs in which often the physical environment plays an important role. In some communities, depending on hierarchies and the division of labor and tasks, particular knowledge belongs only to women, traditional healers, or religious leaders. To give a simple example: The Quechua in Peru are known for the many varieties of potatoes they cultivate. They cultivate a large number of varieties as part of a strategy to reduce risks on crop failure, but also because some varieties have a specific role in cultural ceremonies. For the second principle, two different statements are cited here. The first statement speaks of enabling the creative and inventive genius. The second one stresses the importance of land. Integral indigenous territoriality is a prerequisite for enabling the creative and inventive genius of each indigenous people to flourish. Land is the base of indigenous knowledge, spiritual and cultural traditions. These statements imply that what is important is not so much knowledge in itself, but the continuation, or restoration, of systems that produce


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knowledge. In addition, the generation, or production of knowledge, depends on the physical environment, the social structures, and the interrelation between those two. Knowledge production both depends on and constructs the social and physical reality of people. This conclusion comes fairly close to the findings of many of the recent works in sociology of science, which infer that knowledge production is a social phenomenon (see Knorr-Cetina & Mulkay, 1983; Fuller, 1988). It is, therefore, all the more remarkable and disappointing that so little research has been conducted on the links between knowledge production and the social fabric of communities. What is missing is a connection between the sociology of science and social theory (see Eyerman & Jamison, 1991) that could throw light on the social conditions for knowledge production. It would go, however, too far to discuss this in the present context. What is important to stress here is that knowledge production is a social phenomenon and that this is true for the production of indigenous knowledge, as well as for the production of so-called scientific knowledge. Hence, if we focus on knowledge production, rather than on knowledge, Agrawal’s view gains weight. If we are more interested in knowledge systems and the production of knowledge than in specific knowledge, as we should be, we have to conclude that indeed the distinction between the process of generating indigenous knowledge and that of scientific or Western knowledge is arbitrary. The third principle states: For members of indigenous peoples, knowledge and determination of the use of resources are collective and intergenerational. This does not mean that all knowledge of indigenous communities is shared by every member of the community. Just like in the global knowledge system, many indigenous communities have formal and informal knowledge. In particular, traditional healers and spiritual leaders have knowledge that is usually not shared with other members of the community. What it means, though, is that knowledge can not be “owned” or traded. Knowledge is not a commodity, as it has become in the global system. From the above we can conclude that for indigenous peoples, the three most important elements of their knowledge are: (i) it is the product of a dynamic system (creative and inventive genius of each indigenous people); (ii) it is an integral part of the physical and social environment of communities; and (iii) it is a collective good

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The Conservation of Indigenous Knowledge Most strategies for the preservation of indigenous knowledge concentrate on documentation and ex-situ storage. This is a direct consequence of the fact that most scientists do not acknowledge that indigenous knowledge is the product of a dynamic and creative system to resolve perceived problems. “Almost all scientists and science policy makers perceive the collected information of indigenous communities as the result of centuries of passive—even accidental— accumulation. Indigenous communities, they assume, have gathered knowledge in about the same way stones gather moss” (RAFI, 1994, p. 3). If, however, we accept the above suggestions that the generation of knowledge is a dynamic process embedded in the physical and social environment of communities, storage of specific knowledge is insufficient, or even detrimental to the continuation of the processes responsible for knowledge generation. The identification of strategies for the conservation of indigenous knowledge assumes in the first place a consensus on the importance of indigenous knowledge, both for the world as a whole and for the livelihoods of indigenous communities. Several authors have described the strategic importance of indigenous knowledge for world food production, health care, the conservation of biodiversity, etc. To give an idea of the economic importance of indigenous knowledge: The sometimes random, sometimes systematic collection of indigenous peoples’ agricultural genetic diversity has yielded considerable economic benefits to the world community, including industrialized countries. Genes from the fields of developing countries for only 15 major crops contribute more than US$50,000 million in annual sales in the United States alone. Roughly one quarter of pharmaceutical sales in the United States are of drugs derived directly or indirectly from plants. At the beginning of the 1990s, worldwide sales of all pharmaceuticals amounted to more than US$13,000 million annually; a conservative estimate would be that US$32,000 million of these sales are based upon traditional medicines. (RAFI, 1994).

More important, from the point of view of indigenous communities, is that indigenous peoples and traditional communities often rely on traditional knowledge for their livelihoods and, in particular, for their health care and food security. Some estimate that as much as 80 percent of the world depends on traditional medicine and medical plants for


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their health security (Shelton, 1993, cited in RAFI, 1994). Many communities rely on their knowledge for the production of food crops, or even directly for their nutrition. For example, communities in Borneo have been known to routinely seek nourishment from 800 different plants and more than 100 species of ground fauna along with hundreds of bird species (RAFI, 1994). “The importance of ‘partner’ species to the food supply is illustrated by the example of the Mende of Sierra Leone, who draw less than one fifth of their nutrition from cultivated species and more than half from forests, streams, and fallow fields” (Davis & Richards, 1991, cited in RAFI, 1994). Despite the importance of indigenous knowledge for the world as a whole and for indigenous communities, “traditional” knowledge systems are disappearing. The integration of indigenous peoples into larger societies often leads to the disruption of their economic, cultural, and political systems and practices, and consequently to the loss of knowledge and the disruption of indigenous innovation systems. As mentioned above, most strategies for the conservation of indigenous knowledge focus on ex-situ storage. “According to most theorists, the prime strategy for conserving indigenous knowledge is ex-situ conservation, i.e isolation, documentation, and storage in international, regional, and national archives” (Agrawal, 1996). This is like arguing that the creation of libraries is sufficient to stimulate the production of literary works. In the conclusions and recommendations of the regional meetings, indigenous peoples clearly link the conservation of their knowledge to land rights and self-determination. Some critics contest that this link is made for strategic and political reasons. Although that may in part be true, it does not justify why scientists who affirm that knowledge systems are embedded in the social, political, and economic structure of indigenous cultures give so little attention to this aspect. The attempt to link the continuation of indigenous knowledge systems to land rights and the struggle for self-determination should be interpreted as an attempt to link it with the continuation of indigenous cultures. If it is accepted that knowledge production is a social phenomenon, this link is perfectly justified. What does this mean in terms of concrete activities? A first step is the creation of a favorable environment and national policies that respect, preserve, and maintain knowledge, innovations and practices of indigenous and local communities embodying traditional lifestyles relevant for the conservation and sustainable use of biological diversity and promote their wider application with the approval and involvement of the holders of such knowledge, innovations and practices

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and encourage the equitable sharing of the benefits arising from the utilization of such knowledge, innovations and practices (Convention on Biological Diversity).

What constitutes a “favorable environment” differs from region to region, but some aspects are universal. Following the recommendations of indigenous representatives, the most important pre-conditions are appropriate land rights and the rights to freely determine their own priorities as it affects their lives, beliefs, institutions, and spiritual well being (United Nations, 1993, in: Glowka, 1994). A second necessary step is support for activities that promote the continuation of indigenous cultures. Concrete activities may include: •

•

•

Support for education and raising the awareness of communities. Education based on the cultures and languages of communities is a very effective instrument to promote the conservation of indigenous cultures and knowledge. The famous example of the Inuit, who apparently distinguish in their language some twenty different types of snow, illustrates how language is interwoven with the process of knowledge generation. At the earliermentioned meeting in New Zealand, it was mentioned that Maori children do badly in geography. The reason is that they perceive New Zealand according to the distribution of the different Maori tribes. Support for indigenous research. What we “know” depends on the kind of questions we ask and the way we interpret the answers. The global research system is based on the positivist paradigm, which is just one way of looking at and interpreting reality. Stimulating indigenous research is likely to identify different problems and to generate alternative solutions. Many authors have reported that indigenous communities have a more holographic way of looking at their universe. At the meeting in Malaysia, some representatives gave the example of scientists who were only concerned with the total rice production of particular rice paddy fields. The communities, on the other hand, were more concerned with the total food production of the same field which includes, besides rice, also fish and certain insects. Support for indigenous health-care systems. This should include support for training of community health care monitors in traditional health care practices as well as in formal primary health


•

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care. The integration of indigenous communities in larger societies often results in the loss of influence and credibility of traditional healers. Several studies have shown the effectiveness of traditional health care in the treatment of illnesses and diseases. Acknowledgement and strengthening of traditional health care would be needed to ensure the continuation of these practices. Support for in-situ conservation of biodiversity. This may also include more cooperation between the formal system and indigenous communities in terms of experimentation and the development of new varieties.

The above mentioned activities are probably not sufficient to guarantee the continuation of indigenous knowledge systems. Much more research and experimentation will be necessary. But if we are willing to put, for a moment, our positivist spectacles aside and to allow the participation of indigenous peoples in our efforts to conserve indigenous knowledge, those measures are likely to form a useful basis for further action. On the other hand, if we fail to accept cultural diversity there is no way that we will be able to stop the erosion of biological diversity and to undermine our own future. “The very process of development even as it transforms the wasteland into a thriving physical and social space, recreates the wasteland inside of the developer himself” (Berman, 1982 cited in Pretty, 1995). We should, however, also be aware not to promote the opposite. Some anthropologists would like to preserve indigenous peoples’ cultures exactly as they are. Cultures are dynamic and change over time. The call for continuation and conservation of indigenous cultures should not be interpreted as a call for preserving the status quo. Indigenous peoples should be given the opportunity to decide their own priorities with regard to the conservation of their cultures. Conclusion A growing number of scientists and policy makers is aware of the contribution indigenous knowledge can make to a more sustainable development. However, the types of strategies that are developed to date indicate that most scientists seem to be more interested in conserving the bits of existing knowledge rather than in the continuation of indigenous knowledge systems and in allowing these systems a permanent and equal role in the pursuit of knowledge. Indigenous peoples in three regional meetings alerted that if we are truly interested in possible contributions of their knowledge systems, we should support the

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continuation of their cultures rather than the recording and documenting of existing knowledge. This requires a whole set of different activities. The identification, definition, and implementation of these activities should be left to indigenous peoples, or at least have their full participation. Endnotes 1. The author worked from October 1994 to October 1995 as the coordinator of a project of the United Nations Development Programme that funded regional meetings of indigenous peoples on the conservation and protection of indigenous knowledge. From February 1996 to June 1996 he was the interim coordinator of the Indigenous Knowledge Program, a program coordinated by the Indigenous Peoples Biodiversity Network based on the results on the outcomes of the regional meetings funded by UNDP. Currently he works in the Pilot Program to Conserve the Amazon Rain forest of Brazil as Technical Advisor to the Ministry of Environment in Brazil. 2. The views expressed here are solely those of the author. None of the institutions mentioned in this article can be held responsible for the views in this article. 3. The definition of indigenous peoples is not without problems. For the purpose of the meetings, the definition of the ILO convention 169 was used: Indigenous peoples are: (a) “tribal peoples whose social, cultural and economic conditions distinguish them from other sections of the national community, and whose status is regulated wholly or partially by their own customs or traditions or by special laws or regulations; (b) peoples who are regarded as indigenous on account of their descent from the populations which inhabited the country, or a geographical region to which the country belongs, at the time of conquest or colonization or the establishment of present state boundaries and who, irrespective of their legal status, retain some or all of their own social, economic, cultural and political institutions” (Article 1, ILO Convention 169). References Agrawal, Arun (1995). Indigenous and Scientific Knowledge: Some Critical Comments. Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor 3 (3).


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Benfer, Robert A. & Furbee, Louanna (1996). Can Indigenous Knowledge be brokered without scientific understanding of the community structure and distribution of that knowledge? Indigenous Knowledge & Development Monitor 4 (2). Eyerman, Ron & Jamison, Andrew (1991). Social Movements. A Cognitive Approach. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Fuller, S. (1988). Social Epistemology. Bloomington: Indiana University Press Glowka, L. et al., (1994). A Guide to the Convention on Biological Diversity. Gland and Cambridge: IUCN. International Labour Organization (1989). Convention 169 concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries. Knorr-Cetina, K. & Mulkay, M. (Eds.) (1983). Science Observed: Perspectives on the Social Study of Science. London: Sage. Pretty, Jules N. (1995). Regenerating Agriculture. Policies and Practice for Sustainability and Self-Reliance. London, UK.: Earthscan Publications Ltd. Rural Advancement Foundation International (1994). Conserving Indigenous Knowledge, Integrating Two Systems of Innovation. New York: United Nations Development Programme. United Nations (1993). Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. E/CN.4/Sub.2/1993/29 Annex I.

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? ANNEX STATEMENTS of the REGIONAL MEETINGS of Indigenous Representatives on the Conservation and Protection of INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE

Funded by the UNITED NATIONS DEVELOPMENT PROGRAMME (UNDP)

Meeting in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, 28–30 September 1994 organized by the Coordinadora de las Organizaciones Indígenas de la Cuenca Amazónica, (COICA) Meeting in TVRC Tambunan, Sabah, Malaysia, 24–27 February 1995 organized by Partners of Community Organizations in Sabah (PACOS)/ Southeast Asia Regional Institute for Community Education (SEARICE) Meeting in Silva, Fiji, April 1995 organized by Pacific Concerns Resource Centre (PCRC)


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Coordinadora de las Organizaciones Indígenas de la Cuenca Amazónica Coordinating Body for the Indigenous Peoples’ Organizations of the Amazon Basin REGIONAL MEETING SPONSORED BY COICA AND UNDP ON “INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS AND BIODIVERSITY,” Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia 28–30 September 1994 I.

BASIC POINTS OF AGREEMENT 1. Emphasis is placed on the significance of the use of intellectual property systems as a new formula for regulating North-South economic relations in pursuit of colonialist interests. 2. For indigenous peoples, the intellectual property system means legitimation of the misappropriation of our peoples’ knowledge and resources for commercial purposes. 3. All aspects of the issue of intellectual property (determination of access to national resources, control of the knowledge or cultural heritage of peoples, control of the use of their resources and regulation of the terms of exploitation) are aspects of selfdetermination. For indigenous peoples, accordingly, the ultimate decision on this issue is dependent on self-determination. Positions adopted under a trusteeship regime will be of a short-term nature. 4. Biodiversity and a people’s knowledge are concepts inherent in the idea of indigenous territoriality. Issues relating to access to resources have to be viewed from this standpoint. 5. Integral indigenous territoriality, its recognition (or restoration) and its reconstitution are prerequisites for enabling the creative and inventive genius of each indigenous people to flourish and for it to be meaningful to speak of protecting such peoples. The

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6.

7.

8.

9.

10. 11.

12.

protection, reconstitution and development of indigenous knowledge systems call for additional commitments to the effort to have them reappraised by the outside world. Biodiversity and the culture and intellectual property of a people are concepts that mean indigenous territoriality. Issues relating to access to resources and others have to be viewed from this standpoint. For members of indigenous peoples, knowledge and determination of the use of resources are collective and intergenerational. No indigenous population, whether of individuals or communities, nor the Government, can sell or transfer ownership of resources which are the property of the people and which each generation has an obligation to safeguard for the next. Prevailing intellectual property systems reflect a conception and practice that is: – colonialist, in that the instruments of the developed countries are imposed in order to appropriate the resources of indigenous peoples; – racist, in that it belittles and minimizes the value of our knowledge systems; usurpatory, in that it is essentially a practice of theft. Adjusting indigenous systems to the prevailing intellectual property systems (as a world-wide concept and practice) changes the indigenous regulatory systems themselves. Patents and other intellectual property rights to forms of life are unacceptable to indigenous peoples. It is important to prevent conflicts that may arise between communities from the transformation of intellectual property into a means of dividing indigenous unity. There are some formulas that could be used to enhance the value of our products (brand names, appellations of origin), but on the understanding that these are only marketing possibilities, not entailing monopolies of the product or of collective knowledge. There are


13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

II.

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also some proposals for modifying prevailing intellectual property systems, such as the use of certificates of origin to prevent use of our resources without our prior consent. The prevailing intellectual property systems must be prevented from robbing us, through monopoly rights, of resources and knowledge in order to enrich themselves and build up power opposed to our own. Work must be conducted on the design of a protection and recognition system which is in accordance with the defense of our own conception, and mechanisms must be developed in the short and medium term which will prevent appropriation of our resources and knowledge. A system of protection and recognition of our resources and knowledge must be designed which is in conformity with our world view and contains formulas that, in the short and medium term, will prevent the appropriation of our resources by the countries of the North and others. There must be appropriate mechanisms for maintaining and ensuring the right of indigenous peoples to deny indiscriminate access to the resources of our communities or peoples and making it possible to contest patents or other exclusive rights to what is essentially indigenous. There is a need to maintain the possibility of denying access to indigenous resources and contesting patents or other exclusive rights to what is essentially indigenous. Discussions regarding intellectual property should take place without distracting from priorities such as the struggle for the right to territories and selfdetermination, bearing in mind that the indigenous population and the land form an indivisible unity.

SHORT-TERM RECOMMENDATIONS 1. Identify, analyze and systematically evaluate from the standpoint of the indigenous world view different components of the formal intellectual property

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? systems, including mechanisms, instruments and forums, among which we have: Intellectual property mechanisms – Patents – Trademarks – Authors’ rights – Rights of developers of new plant varieties – Commercial secrets – Industrial design – Labels of origin Intellectual property instruments – The Agreement on Trade-Related International Property Rights (TRIPS) of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) – The Convention on Biodiversity, with special emphasis on the following aspects: environmental impact assessments, subsidiary scientific body, technological council, monitoring, national studies and protocols, as well as on rights of farmers and ex-situ control of germ plasm, which are not covered under the Convention. Intellectual property forums Define mechanisms for consultation and exchange of information between the indigenous organizational universe and international forums such as: – The Treaty for Amazonian Cooperation – The Andean Pact – The General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade – The European Patents Convention – The United Nations Commission on Sustainable Development – The Union for the Protection of New Varieties of Plants – The World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) – The International Labour Organization (ILO) – The United Nations Commission on Human Rights

Views from Indigenous Peoples 2.

3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

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Evaluate the possibilities offered by the international instruments embodying cultural, political, environmental and other rights that could be incorporated into a sui generis legal framework for the protection of indigenous resources and knowledge. Define the content of consultations with such forums. Define the feasibility of using some mechanisms of the prevailing intellectual property systems in relation to: – Protection of biological/genetic resources – Marketing of resources. Study the feasibility of alternative systems and mechanisms for protecting indigenous interests in their resources and knowledge. Sui generis systems for protection of intellectual property: inventor’s certificate, model legislation on folklore. New deposit standards for material entering germ plasm banks. Commissioner for intellectual property rights. Tribunals. Bilateral and multilateral contracts or conventions. Materials Transfer Agreements. Biological prospecting. Defensive publication. Certificates of origin. Seek to make alternative systems operational within the short term, by establishing a minimal regulatory framework (for example bilateral contracts). Systematically study, or expand studies already conducted of, the dynamics of indigenous peoples, with emphasis on: – Basis for sustainability (territories, culture, economy) – Use of knowledge and resources (collective ownership systems, community use of resources) – Community, national, regional and international organizational bases that will make it possible to create mechanisms within and outside indigenous peoples capable of assigning the same value to indigenous knowledge, arts and crafts as to western science.

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? 8.

9. 10.

III.

Establish regional and local indigenous advisory bodies on intellectual property and biodiversity with functions involving legal advice, monitoring, production and dissemination of information and production of materials. Identify national intellectual property organizations, especially in areas of biodiversity. Identify and draw up a timetable of forums for discussion and exchange of information on intellectual property and/or biodiversity. Seek support for sending indigenous delegates to participate in such forums. An effort will be made to obtain information with a view to the eventual establishment of an Information, Training and Dissemination Centre on Indigenous property and Ethical Guides on contract negotiation and model contracts.

MEDIUM-TERM STRATEGIES 1. Plan, programme, establish timetables and seek financing for the establishment of an indigenous programme for the collective use and protection of biological resources and knowledge. This programme will be developed in phases in conformity with areas of geographical coverage. 2. Plan, draw up timetables for and hold seminars and workshops at the community, national and regional levels on biodiversity and prevailing intellectual property systems and alternatives. 3. Establish a standing consultative mechanism to link community workers and indigenous leaders, as well as an information network. 4. Train indigenous leaders in aspects of intellectual property and biodiversity, 5. Draw up a Legal Protocol of Indigenous Law on the use and community knowledge of biological resources. 6. Develop a strategy for dissemination of this Legal Protocol at the national and international levels.

Santa Cruz, Bolivia, 30 September 1994


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Asian Consultation Workshop on the Protection and Conservation of Indigenous Knowledge TVRC Tambunan, Sabah, East Malaysia 24–27 February 1995 Basic Points of Agreement on the Issues Faced by the Indigenous Peoples of Asia From the deliberations it is clear that self-determination is most important to the indigenous people. The definition of self-determination is different in different countries, ranging from land rights, autonomy, self rule without secession, autonomy under federal system, to independence. Indigenous peoples’ struggle and right to selfdetermination are being threatened by repressive governments (e.g. Burma); development policies and projects such as large dams (e.g. North Thailand, Sarawak in East Malaysia); unjust land laws (e.g. Hill Tribes of Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam); genocide (e.g. Chittagong Hill tribes, Bangladesh); religion and the dominant culture. Land, in particular native customary or ancestral lands, is significant to indigenous peoples because it is the source of their livelihood and the base of their indigenous knowledge, spiritual and cultural traditions. The indigenous peoples’ struggle for self-determination is a very strong counter-force to the intellectual property rights system vis-a-vis indigenous knowledge, wisdom and culture. Therefore, the struggle for self-determination cannot be separated from the campaign against intellectual property rights systems, particularly their applications on life forms and indigenous knowledge. Specific Points Raised on Indigenous Knowledge and Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) For the indigenous peoples of Asia, the intellectual property rights system is not only a very new concept but it is also very western. However, it is recognized that the threats posed by the intellectual property rights systems are as grave as the other problems faced by the indigenous peoples at present. When in the past, indigenous peoples’ right to land has been eroded through the imposition of exploitative laws imposed by outsiders; with intellectual property rights, alien laws will also be devised to exploit the indigenous knowledge and resources of the indigenous peoples.

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The prevailing intellectual property rights system is seen as a new form of colonization and a tactic by the industrialized countries of the North to confuse and to divert the struggle of indigenous peoples from their rights to land and resources on, above and under it. The intellectual property rights system and the (mis)appropriation of indigenous knowledge without the prior knowledge and consent of indigenous peoples evoke feelings of anger, of being cheated, and of helplessness in knowing nothing about intellectual property rights and indigenous knowledge piracy. This is akin to robbing indigenous peoples of their resources and knowledge through monopoly rights. Indigenous peoples are not benefiting from the intellectual property rights system. Indigenous knowledge and resources are being eroded, exploited and/or appropriated by outsiders in the likes of transnational corporations (TNCs), institutions, researchers and scientists who are after the profits and benefits gained through monopoly control. The technological method of piracy is too sophisticated for indigenous peoples to understand, especially when indigenous communities are unaware of how the system operates and who are behind it. For indigenous peoples, life is a common property which cannot be owned, commercialized and monopolized by individuals. Based on this worldview, indigenous peoples find it difficult to relate intellectual property rights issues to their daily lives. Accordingly, the patenting of any life forms and processes is unacceptable to indigenous peoples. The intellectual property rights system is in favor of the industrialized countries of the North who have the resources to claim patent and copyright, resulting in the continuous exploitation and appropriation of genetic resources, indigenous knowledge and culture of the indigenous peoples for commercial purposes. The intellectual property rights system totally ignores the contribution of indigenous peoples and the peoples of the South in the conservation and protection of genetic resources through millennia. The intellectual property rights system totally ignores the close interrelationship between indigenous peoples, their knowledge, genetic resources and their environment. The proponents of intellectual


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property rights are only concerned with the benefits that they will gain from the commercial exploitation of these resources. The indigenous peoples of Asia strongly condemn the patenting and commercialization of their cell lines or body parts, as being promoted by the scientist and institutions behind the Human Genome Diversity Project (HGDP). Plan of Actions as Proposed .by the Asian Consultation Workshop The Consultation recognizes that the struggle for self-determination is closely connected to retaining rights over ancestral lands and the entire way of life of the indigenous peoples. The threats that indigenous peoples have been facing in this regard are very clear, and they have their own plans of action to address these concerns. The Consultation also recognizes that indigenous knowledge is closely linked to land which can be taken away from indigenous peoples. Thus, the need to protect and conserve indigenous knowledge is just as important as the struggle for self-determination. In a broad sense, therefore, the indigenous peoples of Asia have one common aspiration—to reclaim their right to self-determination and to their indigenous knowledge. The question of sovereignty is traditionally understood as land but now it also encompasses indigenous knowledge since the two are very closely linked. Towards this end, the Consultation has suggested the following course of actions and strategies: A. Plan of Actions at the Local Level Noting the different experiences, prevailing realities in the political environment and varied situations that the indigenous peoples of Asia currently find themselves in, the methods for achieving their aspirations may again differ, or be in different stages of expression at the local or national level. In such circumstances, it was generally felt that the general plan of action be disseminated to indigenous peoples organizations for them to implement them in their own ways, based on their specific realities. However, it became clear during the Consultation that there is a need to emphasize the following aspects in the activities related to indigenous knowledge at the local level:

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? Strengthen the indigenous peoples’ organizations and communities to be able to collectively address local concerns related to indigenous knowledge and intellectual property rights. Continue the indigenous peoples’ struggle for selfdetermination since this can be a strong counter-force against the threats posed by intellectual property rights systems on indigenous knowledge and genetic resources. Raise the awareness of indigenous peoples’ organizations and communities on the global trends and developments in intellectual property rights systems, especially as they apply to life forms and indigenous knowledge.

B. General Plan of Action Immediate/Short-Term Strategies Issue a statement to the European Parliament calling for the rejection of the patenting of life forms in the European Union, in time for its voting on the issue on 1 March 1995. Disseminate information pertaining to the Asian Consultation Workshop to the local mass media for publication and wider mass awareness. Organize follow-up workshops at the community level to raise the awareness of local farmers and indigenous peoples on the prevailing intellectual property systems. Organize local or national conferences on customary laws to explore indigenous mechanisms and systems of effectively protecting and conserving indigenous knowledge. Plan regional meetings for follow-up discussion and exchange of information on indigenous self-determination and related issues such as indigenous knowledge, intellectual property rights systems and the patenting of life forms. At the outset, the Alliance of Taiwan Aborigines (ATA) has expressed its plan to initiate a regional meeting on these issue in Taiwan in 1996. The ATA will look for funding sources and will welcome financial support from the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP).


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Medium-Term Strategies Intensify advocacy and campaign works against intellectual property systems and the Human Genome Diversity Project (HGDP) at national and international levels. Provide updates on the HGDP and patenting, to be disseminated to indigenous peoples, indigenous organizations and nongovernmental organizations sympathetic to the cause of indigenous peoples. The Rural Advancement Foundation International (RAFI) has been requested to collaborate with local and Asia-based regional organizations to produce and disseminate materials in popular forms, written in the local languages and based on the local context. The Southeast Asia Regional Institute for Community Education (SEARICE) will also distribute their monographs on the impact of global developments on the indigenous peoples, and will assist in information dissemination. Develop capacity of the Asian Indigenous Peoples Pact (AIPP), a forum for indigenous peoples movements in Asia. In this respect, national indigenous peoples organizations will contribute human and material resources, as well as identify members for short to medium-term internship programmes. AIPP to coordinate and monitor activities and developments related to the plans formulated for the region. Build alliances and network with groups within Asia and outside, such as the AIPP, RAFI, SEARICE and the Indigenous Peoples’ Biodiversity Network (IPBN). Indigenous peoples to design their own educational curriculum that will help promote their culture and indigenous knowledge. Such educational curriculum will instil a deep awareness and pride among indigenous peoples, especially children, on the importance of their indigenous knowledge, culture and resources.

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CONSULTATION OF INDIGENOUS PEOPLES’ KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS FINAL STATEMENT Suva, April 1995 Preamble We the participants at the Regional Consultation on Indigenous Peoples’ Knowledge and Intellectual Property Rights held in April 1995 in Suva, Fiji, from independent countries and from non-autonomous colonized territories hereby: Recognize that the Pacific Region holds a significant proportion of the world’s indigenous cultures, languages and biological diversity, Support the initiatives of the Mataatua Declaration (1992), the Kari Oca Declaration (1992), Julayinbul Statement (1993) and the South American and Asian consultation meetings, Declare the right of indigenous peoples of the Pacific to self-governance and independence and ownership of our lands, territories and resources as the basis for preservation of indigenous peoples’ knowledge, Recognize that indigenous peoples of the Pacific exist as unique and distinct peoples irrespective of their political status, Acknowledge that the most effective means to fulfil our responsibilities to our descendants is through the customary transmission and enhancement of our knowledge, Reaffirm that imperialism is perpetuated through intellectual property rights systems, science and modern technology to control and exploit the lands, territories and resources of indigenous peoples, Declare indigenous peoples are willing to share our knowledge with humanity provided we determine when, where and how


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it is used. At present the international system does not recognize or respect our past, present and potential contributions, Assert our inherent right to define who we are. We do not approve of any other definition, Condemn attempts to undervalue indigenous peoples’ traditional science and knowledge, Condemn those who use our biodiversity for commercial and other purposes without our full knowledge and consent. Propose and seek support for the following plan of action: We: 1. Initiate the Establishment of a Treaty declaring the Pacific Region to be a lifeforms patent-free zone; 1.1 Include in the Treaty protocols governing bioprospecting, human genetic research, “in-situ” conservation by indigenous peoples, “ex-situ” collections and relevant international instruments. 1.2 Issue a statement announcing the Treaty and seeking endorsement by the South Pacific Forum and other appropriate regional and international fora. 1.3 Urge Pacific governments to sign and implement the Treaty. 1.4 Implement an educational awareness strategy about the Treaty’s objectives. 2. Call for a moratorium on bioprospecting in the Pacific and urge indigenous peoples not to co-operate in bioprospecting activities until appropriate protection mechanisms are in place. 2.1 Bioprospecting as a term needs to be clearly defined to exclude indigenous peoples’ customary harvesting practices.

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What is Indigenous Knowledge? 2.2 Assert that “in situ” conservation by indigenous peoples is the best method to conserve and protect biological diversity and indigenous knowledge, and encourage its implementation by indigenous communities and all relevant bodies. 2.3 Encourage indigenous peoples to maintain and expand our knowledge of local biological resources.

3. Commit ourselves to raising public awareness of the dangers of expropriation of indigenous knowledge and resources. 3.1 Encourage chiefs, elders and community leaders to play a leadership role in the protection of indigenous peoples’ knowledge and resources. 4. Recognize the urgent need to identify the extent of expropriation that has already occurred and is occurring in the Pacific. 4.1 Seek repatriation of indigenous peoples’ resources already held in external collections, and seek compensation and royalties from commercial developments resulting from these resources. 5. Urge Pacific governments who have not signed the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) to refuse to do so, and encourage those governments who have already signed to protest against any provisions which facilitate the expropriation of indigenous peoples’ knowledge and resources and the patenting of lifeforms. 5.1 Incorporate the concerns of indigenous peoples to protect their knowledge and resources into legislation by including “prior informed consent or no informed consent” (PICNIC) procedures and excluding the patenting of lifeforms. 6. Encourage the South Pacific Forum to amend its rules of procedure to enable accreditation of indigenous peoples and NGOs as observers to future Forum officials meetings.


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7. Strengthen indigenous networks, encourage the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and regional donors to continue to support discussions on indigenous peoples’ knowledge and intellectual property rights. 8. Strengthen the capacities of indigenous peoples to maintain their oral traditions, and encourage initiatives by indigenous peoples to record their knowledge in a permanent form according to their customary access procedures. 9. Urge universities, churches, governments, non-governmental organizations, and other institutions to reconsider their roles in the expropriation of indigenous peoples’ knowledge and resources and to assist in their return to their rightful owners. 10. Call on governments and corporate bodies responsible for the destruction of Pacific Biodiversity to stop their destructive practices and to compensate the affected communities and rehabilitate the affected environment. 10.1 Call on France to stop definitively its nuclear testing in the Pacific and repair the damaged biodiveristy. Glossary: In-Situ: “on-site”. In situ conservation is the conservation of ecosystems and natural habitats and the maintenance and recovery of viable populations of species in their natural surroundings and, in the case of domesticated or cultivated species, in the surroundings where they have developed their distinctive properties. Ex-situ: “off-site”. This refers, for example, to the conservation of genetic resources outside their natural habitats, e.g., gene banks and botanical gardens.

About the Editors and Contributors Jill Abdullah has degrees from both Edith Cowan and Curtin Universities in Perth Western Australia and has won both state and national Aboriginal Scholar of the Year Awards. Jill has extensive experience in Aboriginal community and organizational contexts. She is currently Coordinator of Postgraduate Programmes at the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University of Technology in Perth Western Australia. Clemente K.Abrokwaa is Assistant Professor of African Studies in the Department of African and African American Studies at Penn State University. His research interests include Education, Development and Culture in Africa. He is also a professional drummer with a degree in African Music from Cape Coast University, Ghana. June M.George is a research fellow in science education at the School of Education at the Trinidad campus of the regional University of the West Indies. She has been engaged in science education at this level for the past fifteen years. Over the last decade, her major research interest has been the interaction between traditional practices and beliefs which Caribbean students hold and school science, and she has published a number of articles in this area. She is married and is the mother of two teen-aged children. Olugbemiro J.Jegede is Professor and Director of the Centre for Research in Distance & Adult Learning at the Open University of Hong Kong. He holds undergraduate and graduate degrees from Ahmadu Bello University, Nigeria and a Ph.D. from the University of Wales, UK. He is also a recipient of the USQ 1995 Award for Excellence in Research. His areas of interest include applied cognitive science, science education, computer mediated communications, instructional design, distance

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education, and cultural studies. He is Editor in Chief of the Electronic Journal of Instructional Science and Technology. Joe L.Kincheloe teaches Pedagogy and Cultural Studies at The Pennsylvania State University. Currently he is Belle Zeller Visiting Chair of Public Policy and Administration at CUNY Broclyn College. He is the author of numerous books, including Teachers as Researchers: Qualitative Paths to Empowerment, Toil and Trouble: Good Work, Smart Workers and the Integration of Academic and Vocational Education. Along with his scholarship, he is actively involved in the Interinstitutional Consortium for Indigenous Knowledge and he is a well known lecturer and travels internationally presenting workshops and keynote addresses on popular culture, pedagogy and issues of race, class and gender. He is also coauthor of many articles and co-editor of books with Shirley Steinberg. Gelsa Knijnik is professor at Universidade do Vale do Rio dos Sinos, Brazil, Graduate Program on Education. She researches Mathematics Education, especially in the political and cultural dimensions of this field of knowledge. In the last years her work is connected to the Brazialian social movement Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem-Terra (Landless People movement), developing studies and pedagogical practices in an ethnomathematics approach. Donaldo Macedo is professor of English and Graduate Program Director of Bilingual and ESL studies at the University of MassachusettsBoston. He a leading authority in language education and has published widely in the area of critical literacy. His latest book is Literacies of Power: What Americans are not Allowed to Know. Mahia Maurial is a Peruvian anthropologist who is fulfilling a Ph.D. degree in Educational Theory and Policy at the Pennsylvania State University. She has experience in educational anthropology research in the Peruvian rural Andes. Currently she is working in her doctoral research which explores the views of the environment of rural Andean children and their paintings with applications in curriculum. R.Sambuli Mosha is Assistant Professor of Spirituality at the Catholic University of East Africa, Nairobi, Kenya. Born and raised in Tanzania, he has written several articles and given numerous lectures on Spirituality


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and Indigenous African Studies. Currently on leave and a Visiting Fellow at Georgetown University, he is working on a book: Heartbeat of Indigenous Africa. He has also lectured at Duquesne University, Xavier University (Ohio), and Loyala University, Chicago. Lucy Mule is a doctoral candidate in the department of curriculum and instruction, Pennsylvania State University. She taught English at Kenyan Secondary schools and was Department Head at Tala High School. Robert K.N.Mwadime is a research fellow and lecturer at the University of Nairobi, Kenya. Born and raised in Kenya he has undergraduate and graduate degrees in Agriculture and Applied Human Nutrition and a Ph.D. from Wegeningen Agricultural University, The Netherlands. He is author of Non-farm Employment in Rural Kenya. Anne M.Parrish is a consulting applied social anthropologist and certified entomologist. She is a graduate of the University of Kentucky. The funding for the research contained in her chapter within this book was provided by the Fulbright Commission. Madhu Suri Prakash is Professor of Education at the Pennsylvania State University and the recipient of the Eisenhower Award for Distinguished Teaching. She has, until recently, also served as Professorin-Charge of Educational Theory and Policy in the Department of Educational Policy Studies. Educated originally at the University of Delhi, she earned her doctorate in the Philosophy of Education at Syracuse University in 1981. She is the author of numerous chapters in books and articles in scholarly journals, including the American Journal of Education, Philosophy of Education and Teachers College Record. She has also been a guest editor for special issues of Holistic Education Review and Educational Theory. She has co-authored Grassroots Postmodernism: Remaking the Soil of Cultures (London: Zed Books, 1998) and Escaping Education: Living as Learning Within Grassroots Cultures (New York: Peter Lang, 1998). Consuelo Quiroz is Agricultural Extension specialist, faculty member/ researcher at the Agrarian Science Department, University of The Andes, Trujillo Campus, Venezuela. Member of the Center for Tropical Alternative Agriculture and Sustainable Development (CATADI) and

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National Coordinator of the Venezuelan Secretariat for the promotion of Local (Indigenous) Knowledge (VERSIK). Frances V.Rains is Assistant Professor of Education at The Pennsylvania State University. Her research emphasis is in social justice and equity issues linked to race, class and gender in American education, with special interests related to women of color and American Indian issues. Her work is published in Taboo: The Journal of Culture and Education and has several articles and chapters in books in White Reign: Learning & Deploying Whiteness in America and in Everyday Knowledge and Uncommon Truths: Life Writings and Women’s Experiences In and Outside the Academy. Rodney Reynar is a graduate student in the College of Agricultural Sciences at The Pennsylvania State University. Ladislaus M.Semali is Associate Professor of Education at the Pennsylvania State University. Originally from Tanzania, his major areas of research are Language, media, and literacy education. Interests also include the study of intergroup relations from sociocultural perspectives. He is currently the Director of the Interinstitutional Consortium for Indigenous Knowledge. He is author of Postliteracy in the age of democracy and co-edited Intemediality: The Teachers’ Handbook of Critical Media Literacy. His work has been published in the International Review of Education and Comparative Education Review. Ernie Stringer has undergraduate degrees from the University of Western Australia and a Ph.D. from the University of Illinois. As a teacher and educator, he has worked in both Australian mainstream and Aboriginal community contexts. He is a member of the postgraduate staff at the Centre for Aboriginal Studies and has interests in sociology, anthropology, philosophy, community development and action research. Marcel Viergever is Coordinator for the Department of International Development (DFID) of the Pilot Programme for the conservation of the Amazon Rain Forest in Brasilia, Brazil. Has a Masters of Science in Human Geography from the University of Amsterdam. Worked for the UNDP in Brazil and in New York. From 1992 to 1995, he was


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the focal point for indigenous peoples issues. In that capacity he coordinated among other things the publication of a booklet written by the rural Advancement Foundation: Conserving Indigenous Knowledge, Integrating Two Systems of Innovation. He also coordinated three regional meetings with indigenous peoples on the conservation in Latin America, in Asia and in the Pacific.

Index Abdullah, Jill, 41, 48, 53, 143–155 Aboriginal: education, 143–155; empowerment, and higher education, 143–145 Aboriginal Terms of Reference (ATR), 145; and Academic Terms of Reference, 150–151; for development of indigenous research program, 151–153 Aborigines of Australia, 22 Abrokwaa, Clemente K., 42, 191–207 Academic Terms of Reference(AcTR), 150–151 action research, 148, 149–150 Adam’s Method, 182–189 Adowa dance, 205 adult education, 144 advertising, 161–162 aerophones, 197 Africa, 95–115; and curriculum, 107–108; and ethnic groups, 191–193; indigenous music education, 191–207 African Association of Literacy and Adult Education, 115 African Indigenous Religions and Spirituality, 209 African socialism, 234 African thought system, 124 Age of Reason, 26 agency, 20 Agenda 21 of the Earth Summit, 6, 101–102 agrapha, 63–64 Agrawal, Arun, 21, 167–169, 334

agricultural extension education, 269–282 agricultural programs, 261 Agricultural Technical School, ElDakhla, 277 agriculture, 65 Aguaruna socialization, 65–66 airconditioner, 173 Akans, 191, 203 Akwapim, 192 Alier, Abel, 162 alternative technology, 260–261 alternative ways of knowing, 102–104 Alvares, Claude, 160–163 Amazon Basin, 65–66, 69–70 American Indian Studies, 16 amnesia, historical, 317–329; and purposes of education, 319–320 Andean: culture, 299; peasants, 168–170; peoples, 41–43, 168–170; schools, 68 anemia, 254 Angura, T.O., 245 animals, 251 annex, statements of Regional Meetings of Indigenous Representatives on the Conservation and Protection of Indigenous Knowledge, 344–359 ante-natal management, 255 anthropology, 29, 35–37; cultural, 22; Hispanic, 63; Peruvian, 60; and systems of knowledge, 269–270; texts, 14

368 Apffel-Marglin, Frédérique, 46, 52, 68–69, 168–170 Appadurai, A., 291 Appalachians, 13–15 appropriation, 20; of indigeneity, 327; of indigenous knowledge, 293–295 approximation, 185–186 ash, 255 Ashantis, 192, 197, 202–204, 205 Atahualpa, 67 Atwater, M.M., 121 Australia, 334 Ausubel, D.P., 121–122 authenticity, 22 authoritarianism, 127 authority, intellectual, 317–329; and purposes of education, 319–320 awakening, 216 awareness, 171, 340 awpa Macchu, 68 Bacon, Sir Francis, 27, 30–31, 67, 165–166, 296; and The Masculine Birth of Time, 67 Baker, D., 121 banking concept, 106–107, 230 Barbie, 321 Barnhardt, R., 144 Bay of Plenty, 333 Belgium, 181 The Bell Curve, 36 Benfer, Robert A., 334 Berry, Wendell, 295–296, 299–300, 302 bias, documentary, 108–109 biodiversity, 335–336, 341 biographical statement, of editors, 7–15; of Frances V.Rains, 318, 324–325 Black Americans, 195 Bokamba, E.G., 233, 235 Bolivia, 336, 344–350 border crossing, 164 borderlands epistemology, 52–53 Borneo, 339 Botswana, 111

Index Boyle, Robert, 171 Brazil, 179–189; landless people education, 179–189 Britton, B.K., 121 Brock-Utne, B., 99–100, 108–109 Brokensha, D., 287–289 Brown, S.J., 120–121 Brush, Stephen B., 279 Buerma, J.T., 245 butter, 172–177 Byrnes, J., 144 calypso, 83–84 capitalism: 12, 234; and social relations, 299 Caribbean, 79–92 Cartesian-Newtonian concepts, 25– 29, 43 cassava, 255, 257, 265 Central Luzon State University, Philippines, 311 Centre for Aboriginal Studies, 48, 53, 143–155; and Aboriginal Terms of Reference, 145; and indigenous research, 145–155 cereals, 258 chacras, 65 Chagga people, 7–13, 17–18, 49, 209–224; and Indigenous Educational System, 215–217; and ipvunda, 215–217; philosophy, 217; worldview, 210–217 Chambers, Robert, 262 change: in family and community, 99–101; indigenous knowledge and, 298–301 Cherokee, 318, 323 child delivery, 255 children’s science, 121–122 Chile, 183 Choctaw, 318 chordophones, 197 Christians, 111; missionaries, 193– 194, 246–247 circular continuum, 59–75; ethical consequences of, 72–74 civic education, 113

Index classroom, and community, 95–115 Cobern, W.W., 122–124, 133 coffee cultivation, 7–8 cognitive conflict, 135 cold, 82–83, 88–90 collateral learning, 119–142; and collateral knowledge, 130–131; and colonialism, 132; consequences of, 135–137; dependent, 134–135; discussion of, 129–131; historical development of, 131–132; ontogeny of, 131–135; parallel, 134; roots of, 131–132; and science education, 119–142; secured, 135; simultaneous, 134; theory, 119, 132–133; and Western expansion, 131–132; and Western rationality, 131–132 Collins, A., 120–121 colonial science, 25–29 colonialism, 9, 18–19, 60–61, 64, 101–102, 246–247; and Christian missionaries, 193– 194; and collateral learning, 132; and indigenous African music, 193–194; and language; neo-, 177; policy, 231–236; and power, 29–3; scientific, 29–31; colonization, 143, 299; and ecological concepts, 290; and indigenous music, 206 commercialization of indigenous knowledge, 293–295 commodities, 269; storage and protection, 272–282 Commonwealth Center for Indigenous Knowledge, 4–5 communal education, 107–108 communism, 105 community, 73–74, 86–87, 166, 291; awareness, 340; Chagga, 212–213, 222; as classroom, 95 115; decline of the role of, 107–110; and gender roles, 324; health care, 340–341; Indian, 324; and indigenous music,

369 194–195, 200–201, 204; international, 246–247; survival of, 333 comotors, 73–74 competition, 265 complementary sources of wisdom, 314 concentration, 199 conflict, 71; cognitive, 135; spatial, 69–70; temporal, 69–70 conflict, continuum between dialogue and, 59–75; and education, 69–70; ethical consequences of, 72–74 Continental Commission of Indigenous Nations, (CONIC), 64 consciousness, 15–18, 29 conservation, 21; ex-situ, 339, of indigenous knowledge, 338– 341, 344–359; in-situ, 341 constructivism, 84, 105–106, 122, 308 contextualization, 120–125, 247–248, 308 Coordinadora de las Organizations Indígenas de la Cuenca Amazónica (COICA), 64, 334, 344 350 cosmology, 124 counterculture, 14–15 counter-essentialism, 23–25 coursework, in indigenous research program, 147–149; and advanced aboriginal studies, 147; and electronic communications and information management, 148–149; and qualitative action research methods, 148; and specialization, 148; and systems of knowledge, 148 Cree (First Nations People of Canada), 318 crisis, of representation, 153–154 Critical Indigenismo, 64 critical multicultural education, 32– 33, 38

370 critical pedagogy, 238 critical thinking, 70–71 crops, 251 cubação da terra, 182–189; and Adam’s Method, 182–189; and Book Method, 185–186; and George’s Method, 184–189; and Heron Formula, 185–186; researching, 186 cultural: anthropology, 22; assimilation, 12–13; capital, 309; change, 291–292; difference, 15; diversity, 341; genocide, 294–295 “Cultural Conditionality and Aid to Education in East Africa,” 99–100 culture, 125–129; Andean, 298–299; indigenous, and environment, 298–299; modern, 298–300; oral, 323; Tlingit, 326 curricular “other,” 317–329 curriculum 90–92, 97, 101–102; field of, 231; inappropriateness ofnon-indigenous language for, 231–233; and indigenous languages, 227–240; and indigenous literacy, 103–107; and indigenous music education, 198–199; indigenization of, 107–108; inquiry, 103–107; and Kenya, 229–231; liberatory, 230; reform, 111–114, 229– 231; and vocational education, 307–313 curriculum, of vocational education, 307–315; incorporation of local knowledge systems into, 309 313 Curry College, 219 Curtin University of Technology, 143–155 Cziko, G.A., 120 dahin, 171–177 dahin/lassi paradigm, 171–176 dancers, 195, 205

Index Dances with Wolves, 322 Danon, 174 Dart, F.E., 124 da Silva, Tomaz Tadeu, 188 decolonization, 113, 168, 232, 240 deconstruction, 159 decontextualization, 21–25 Deloria, Vine Jr., 321–322 democracy, 105; in Africa, 246– 247; and dialogical education, 72; and Peru, 59–60 Denzin, Norman, 149 Descartes, Renée, 26–27, 285 detoxification, 257 developing countries, and vocational education and local knowledge systems, 305–315 development, 12, 19, 244, 341; and compensation, 295; and economic concerns, 293; global, 161–164; and individual, 291–292; and literacy, 61–62; and local knowledge systems, 307; andparticipation, 285–286; and people’s science, 296–298; programs, and nutrition, 246 247; and progress, 295–296; and resistance, 291–292; and sustainability, 102, 286, 295, 307, 341–342; and unemployment, 286; and violence, 285–286 Development Decades, 162 Dewey, John, 105, 232–233 dialogical systems of knowledge production, 51–53 dialogue, 23, 48, 53, 70–72; and conflict, 59–77; and multiculturalism, 110 dialogue, continuum between conflict and, 59–77; ethical consequences of, 72–74 difference, 15–16, 47–48 discourse, 50–51 disindigenization, 62, 68 Disney, 320 diversity, 110, 169; cultural, 341; bio-, 341; and language, 192

Index documentary bias, 108–109 domination, 154 drama, 83 Driver, R., 133 dung, cow, 255 Duguid, P., 120–121 dwelling, 172 earth, 201–203 eating patterns, 251 ecoculture, 121–122 eco-developers, 164–167 ecological literacy, 157–177 ecology, 65, 102 economic: concerns, and development, 293; system, world, 294 Economic Community of WestAfrican States (ECOWAS), 246 economy, global, 12 education: for life, 216–217; programs, and holisticity, 218–223; and sensitization and training, 262–263 Education for Self-Reliance (ESR), 111–113, 243 educational reform, 16, 37, 112–114; and nutritionists, 243–266; obstacles to, 112–113 Egypt, 183, 269–283 Egyptian Desert Development Organization, 271 Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture and Land Reclamation, 271, 272 Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture Extension education program, 270–282 Egyptian Western Desert, 270–282 El Dakhla, 270–282; Agricultural Technical School in, 277; contextualization of, 270–271; post harvest pests in, 271–272 elders, 101 electronic communications, 148–149 elites, 262 El-Lakany, 280

371 Ellul, Jacques, 302 emic knowledge, 144 emotions, 195 empowerment, 70–71, 92, 233 The End of Science, 171, 177 England, 217 English language, 9–13, 228–229, 237 English literature, 10–11 environment, 120–121 environmental: education, 102; ethics, 102; science, 163–167, 312–313; alternatives to science, 164–167; -science vs. subsistence science, 163–167; songs, 201–203 environmentalism, 163–167; and alternative education, 164–167; and education, 163–164; epistemological hegemony, 25–29 epistemologies, 37; borderlands, 52–53; exchange of, 297 essentialism, 22–25, 40 Eternal Divine Mystery, 211 ethnic: conflict, 99; groups, 191–193 ethnomathematics, 35–36; 179–189; and cubação da terra, 182–189; definition of, 186–187; and official mathematics, 187–188; and power, 188 ethnoscience, 21, 29–31, 115 Eurocentrism, 60–61 Europeanization, 20–21 evangelism, 124 Ewe, 206 “I Expected My Skin and My Blood to Ripen,” 327 experience, 50, 81–82, 88 experts, 108–110 ex-situ conservation, 339 ex-situ storage, 338–339 extension, agricultural extension education, 269–282 extensionists, 256–257 faba (fava) beans, 271–272 family, 211–213, 222;

372 and music, 204 Fanon, Frantz, 232–233 Fantis, 192 farmers, 245, 259; perceptions of integrated pest management, 276, 277 fasting, 249 Faundez, Antonio, 15, 22 feran, 271–272 fermentation, 255, 257–258 fieldwork, 147 Fiji, 334, 344, 359 “First International Conference on the cultural and Intellectual Property Rights of Indigenous Peoples,” 333–334 First Nations People of Canada, 318 Fischer, M., 154 folklore, 113 food: processing, 255;security, and indigenous knowledge, 338– 339; storage, 255, 338–339 formal knowledge systems, failure of, 244–245 foundational theory, 121–122 Fourth World, 16 Frankfurt School, 14–15 freedom, individual, 292 Freire, Paulo, 15, 22, 35, 60, 70–71, 106–107, 230, 232, 239, 240, 293 fruits, 258 fumigation, 273 funding, 143–144 Furbee, Louanna, 334 Gachathi Report of 1976, 230 games, 9 Gandhi, 292–293, 297 garri, 265 geography, 340 George, June, 40, 46, 79–94 George’s Method, 184–189 germination, 258 Ghana, 111, 191–193, 197, 206 ghee, 255 Gilbert, J.K., 121

Index girls, 81–83 Giroux, Henry, 232–233 Glaser, R., 120 global: development, 161–164; economy, 12 globalization, 17, 19–20, 161–164, 206–207;resistance to, 20 Glynn, S.M., 121 goal structure, 127 Goodman, N., 132–133 Goonatilake, S., 296 Gramsci, Antonio, 37 granary, 272–273 grassroots organizations, 64–65, 73 green revolution, 245–246 gruels, 258 Guinea, 111 Handbook of Qualitative Research, 149 handel, 274 Hanunoo, 288–293 “Hanunoo Agriculture,” 287–288 Harding, Sandra, 52–53, 176–177 Haverkort, Bertus, 306 healing practices, healing, 163 health care, 340–341, 338–339 heart, 212, 221 heat, 82–83, 88–90 hegemony, 317–329 Hennessy, A., 120–121 herbalists, 254 hermeneutics, 37 Herrnstein, Richard, 36 higher education, and aboriginal empowerment, 143–145 Hindus, 172–177 historical amnesia, 317–329;and purposes of education, 319–320 history, of science, 66–67, 123–124 Hobbes, Thomas 171 holes, 272 holism, 42 holisticity, 63–64, 209, 214, 247–248; and guidelines for formation of education programs, 218 223 homeostasis, 88–90

Index Horton, R., 130, 133 hot/cold theory, 90 human resources, 294 hybridization, 52, 68–69 hydrocyanic acid (HCN), 257–258 identity, 23–25, 33;human, 285;and indigenous music, 195;and language, 232 ideological control, and language, 234 idiophones, 196–197 Illich, Ivan, 60, 159, 302 illness, 254–255, 257–258;uses of indigenous knowledge in, 254–259 imanya, 216, 220 improvisation, 199 Inca, 67–68 income, 179 India, 171–177 Indian “Wars,” 323, 326; The New Indian Wars, 326 Indian princess, 320 indigenization, and curriculum, 111–114 indigenous, deconstruction of, 64–65 indigenous agricultural knowledge, 16 indigenous behaviors, scientific explanation of, 257–259 indigenous culture, and environment, 298–299 indigenous dialogical education, 65–67; and dialogue with nature, 65–67; ethical consequences of, 72–74; possibilities and obstacles for, 70–72 indigenous grassroots organizations, 64–65 indigenous health-care systems, 340– 341 indigenous knowledge: and aboriginal empowerment, 143–145; and academic curriculum, 33–39; appropriation of, 293–295; and

373 Centre for Aboriginal Studies, 145–155; and change, 298 301; and colonial science, 25–29; commercialization of, 293–294; conservation of, 338 341, 344–359; and continuum between conflict and dialogue, 59–75; creation of new, 257 259; and cubação da terra, 182–188; definition of, 3–4, 62–64, 79–83, 97–103, 247–252, 334–337; and development, 285–302; elements of, 63–64; and epistemology and ways of seeing, 40–43; and essentialism, 22–25; and ethnomathematics, 179–189; forms of expression of, 83–84; ignoring, 39; and indigenous learning and research, 143–155; and interpretation of views from indigenous peoples, 333–359; and learning, 84; and medicinal practices, 338–339; and needs, 253; and nutritionists in Africa, 243–266; as people’s science, 296–298; principles of, 335– 336; as a resource, 293–296; risks associated with, 263–265; and school science, 85–90; as subjugated knowledge, 31–33; systems, 287–300; traditions, and difference between, 248; transferred, 264–265; transformative power of, 15 18, 46–51; uses of in nutritional sciences, 254–259; uses of in programming, 259–262; validity of, 248–252; and Western knowledge, 67–69; and Western science, 43–46 The Indigenous Knowledge and Development Monitor, 4 indigenous knowledge systems: growing interest in, 287–288; and nutritionists in Africa, 243–266 reductionist approach

374 to, 290–291; term as a problem, 300; vs. science, 157–159 Indigenous Knowledge Systems and Development, 287–288 indigenous language, 227–240; and curriculum, 227–240; and Kenya’s curriculum reform, 229 231; political death of, 233– 236; political implications of, 233–236; and unity, 234–236 indigenous learning, and knowledge and research, 143–155; and aboriginal empowerment, 143 145; and The Centre for Aboriginal Studies, 145–155 indigenous literacy, 95–115 indigenous mathematics, 182–183 indigenous music, 194–195 indigenous music education, 191–207; aim of, 198–199; and colonial legacy, 193–194; and curriculum, 198–199; and environmental songs, 201–203; and indigenous music, 194–195; and instructional methods, 204–206; and instrumental resources, 196–198; and musical texts, 200–201; and nature of indigenous African societies, 191–193; and religious song texts, 203–204 indigenous people: interpretation of views of, 333–359; of Peru; serving the interests of, 18–20; 59–75; Western interventions into problems of, 20–21 Indigenous Peoples Biodiversity Network (IPBN), 334 indigenous pest management, 270–282; biological control, 275; chemical control, 273–274; comparison between Western nomothetic and indigenous idiographic, 281; cultural control, 274–275; fires, 274–275; fumigation, 273–274; handel, 274; larvicide,

Index 275; mechanical control, 274; mud, 274; sunning, 274; traditional methods, 273–275; traps, 274 indigenous post-harvest strategies, 270 indigenous research, 340 indigenous research, and knowledge and learning, 143–155; and aboriginal empowerment, 143 145; and The Centre for Aboriginal Studies, 145–155 indigenous technologies, 83 Indonesia, 22 infant education, 180 information management, 148–149 Inkarri, 68 insecticide, 275 insight, 37–38 in-situ conservation, 341 instructional methods, and indigenous music, 204–206 instruments, musical, 196–198; aerophones, 197; chordophones, 197; idiophones, 196–197; membranophones, 197 integrated pest management, 270–282; adoption of introduced technologies, 275–276; farmers’ perception of, 276, 277; insecticide, 275; rodenticide, 275; strategies, and socioeconomic and subsistence factors of, 278–280; traditional methods, 273–275; transfer of knowledge and introduction of innovations, 277–282; see also, indigenous pest management integration, and curriculum, 107–110 integrationist indigenisms, 64–65 intellectual authority, 317–329; and purposes of education, 319–320 interactivity, 107 intercultural vocabulary, 71–72 Interinstitutional Consortium for

Index Indigenous Knowledge (ICIK), 4–7 International Center for Indigenous Knowledge for Agriculture and Rural Development (CIKARD), 4 international community, 246–247 “International King Baudouin Prize for Development,” 181 intervention program, 260 interviews, 80–92 Inuit, 340 Iowa State University 4 ipvunda, 215–220, 222–223 Iran, 104 Iroquois Confederacy, 323 irrational rationalities, 15 Islam, 111 Itinerant School, 180–181 Iwa Primary School, 9 Japan, 133, 35–236, 318 Jegede, Olugbemiro J., 119–142 Julayinabul, 334 justice, 15–18, 37, 181 Kenya, 111, 196, 245, 255; curriculum, 262–263; fish farming in, 246; and Kiswahili, 227–240; language situation in, 228–229; and nutrition, 250, 259, 260 Kenyan Certificate of Secondary Education, 230 Kenyatta, President, 227–228 Kichagga, 8–13, 224 Kikuyu, 235, 250 Kilimanjaro, Mount, 7, 211, 221 Kilmo (agriculture), 113 Kincheloe, Joe, 1–58, 232–233, 238–239, 317 King Baudouin Foundation, 181 Kintsch, W., 120 Kiswahili, 9–13;and Kenya, 227–240;political nature of, 234–236 Knijnik, Gelsa, 32, 179–189 knowledge: for action, 257–259

375 claims, 86–88;and conflict, 67–69;and power, 64, 67, 161–163; prior, 120–125;production, 317, 335, 337;systems, 167–171; transfer of in Egyptian oasis, 269, 277–282 knowledge production/ legitimation, 15–18, 34–37, 50–51, 317, 335, 337;dialogical systems of, 51–53 Korea, 235–236 Krishna, 172 Kunnie, J., 239–240 kwashiorkor, 260 labor, 250–251 La Flesche, Suzette, 318–319 Lagos Plan of Action, 246 land, 335–336;measurement, see cubação da terra;reform, 179; rights, 339–340 Landless People Movement, 179–189 landowners, 179–180 language, 8–15, 41;and content, 233– 234;English, 228–229;and ethnic family, 192;and ideological control, 234;indigenous, and Kenya’s curriculum reform, 229–231, 233;Kichagga, 224;local, 228–229;non-indigenous, and inappropriateness for curriculum, 231–233;policy, 231–236;political implications of, 233–236;and Twi, 192 lassi, 171–177 learning: collateral, 119–142;as information processing, 120;in a non-indigenous language, 236 239;see also, collateral learning, indigenous learning learning, and sociocultural factors, 125–129;and authoritarianism, 127;and effects on science classroom, 126–129;and goal structure, 127;implications of, 128–129;and sacredness of

376 science, 128;and societal expectations, 127–128;and traditional worldview, 127 Lee, Eddy, 280 Levy-Bruhl, L., 123 liberatory curriculum, 230 Life Among the Paiutes: Their Wrongs and Claims, 318 “limited scientists,” 264 Lincoln, Yvonna, 149 literacy, 9–15, 180, 227;context specific, 232–233;and development, 61–62;ecological, 157–177;education, 10– 13;indigenous, 95–115;local, 104;oral, 10–13 literature, 126;English, 10–11;oral, 10–13 local knowledge systems, 305–315; definition of, 306;importance of, 306–307;incorporation of into curricula, 309– 313;recommendations, 313– 315;and vocational education curricula, 307–309 locality, 63–64, 71 lomasas, 170 Lowe, J., 123 Loyola University of Chicago, 219 Luca, Chumap, 66 Luckmann, T., 121 Maarifa ya Nyumbani (domestic science education), 113 Maasai people, 214;and nutrition, 249, 252–253 Macedo, Donaldo, 230 Malaysia, 334, 340, 351–355 Malinowski, B., 123–124 Maori, 340 Marcus, G., 154 The Masculine Birth of Time, 67 mass media, 238, 277 Mataatua, 333 materialism, 161–162 mathematics, 35–36, 120–123; see also, ethnomathematics

Index Maurial, Mahia, 40, 53, 59–77 Mazrui, A.M., 232 Mbuyi, D.M., 233 measurement, land, see cubação da terra media, 238, 277 medicine: and indigenous knowledge, 338–339; modern, 163; practices, 174–176 membranophones, 197 memory, 33, 120, 135 Mende, 339 menstruation, 81–83 mestizo, 71 modern cultures, 298–300 modernism, 13–15; defining, 25–29 modernity, 285 modernization, 12; and integrated pest management, 275 modesty, 72–74 Mohawk, John, 168, 324 Molo ethnic cleansing, 235 monoculturalism, 104, 164 Monocultures of the Mind, 289–290 Mosha, R.Sambuli, 43, 48, 209–224 Moslems, 111 Mount Kilimanjaro, 7, 211, 221 mountain culture, 13–15 Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem-Terra, see Landless People Movement mpvunde, 216 mtaa, 255 Mule, Lucy, 227–240 multiculturalism, and music education, 206–207 multilingual environment, 236–239 Murray, Charles, 36 musical knowledge, 42 musical instruments, 196–198; aerophones, 197; chordophones, 197; idiophones, 196–197; membranophones, 197 musical texts, 200–204; environmental, 201–203; religious, 203–204

Index

377

musicians, 195 Mwadime, Robert K.N., 243–267 Mwingi, 255, 259 myths, 67–68;school, 69–70

nutritionists, 243–268 Nyagah, Mr., 227 Nyerere, Julius, 95–96, 98, 111, 232, 234, 243, 262

Nagel, Ernest, 269 NASA, 163–164 Native American spirituality, 209 natural resources, 214 nature, 59–75, 87, 169–171, 252; and indigenous education, 65–67; women’s relationship with, 66 necessary and discretionary knowledge, 252–254 neo-colonialism, 177 Netherlands, 4 new commons, 62, 68 The New Indian Wars, 326 Newton, Sir Isaac, 26–27 New Valley Governorate, 271 New Valley Project, 279 New Zealand, 333, 340 Ngugi, wa Thiong’o, 227 Nigeria, 245, 265 Nile Valley, 269–282 Nketia, J.H.K., 195 Nkurumah, Kwameh, 232–233 noble savage, 320 Nommo dance group, 207 non-governmental organizations, 102, 115 non-indigenous language, and inappropriateness for curriculum core, 231–233; teaching and learning in, 236–239 Novak, J., 122 numeracy, 180 Nunkui, 66 nutrients, 250–251 nutrition, 82, 243–268 nutrition-related behaviors, and community explanations for, 249–251 nutritional sciences: improving nutrition through indigenous and scientific knowledge, 256–257; and indigenous interventions, 254–255

objectification, 320–321 Office of Indian Education, 320 Ogunniyi, M.B., 133 O-ma-ha, 318 Ominde Commission of 1964, 229, 232 Ondiek, P.E., 231 oppression, 16–17, 33, 113 oral: cultures, 323; knowledge, 13–14; literacy, 10–13; literature, 10–13, 230 Orr, David, 60, 164, 299, 301–302 Osborne, R., 121 Pacific Concerns Resource Centre (PCRC), 334, 344, 356–359 Paiutes, 318 Pakistan, 172 Parrinder, G., 203 Parrish, Anne M., 16, 51, 269–293 participation: and development, 286–295; in educational process, 105, 108–109 Partners of Community Organizations, (PACOS), 334, 344, 351–355 Pascal, Blaise, 220–221 peasants, 179–189, 288; and resistance, 245–246 Pennsylvania State University, 4–5, 207 people’s science, 157–177; and dahin/lassi paradigm, 171–177; and development, 296–298; indigenous knowledge as, 296–298; science for people vs. by people, 159–163 performance, 195, 199 personal experience, 81–82, 88 Peru, 59–75, 168–170; and Quechua, 336 pesticide, 275 pest-management; see, integrated

378 pest-management, indigenous pest-management pest repellent, 255 pests: post-harvest, 271–282 Philippines, 289, 334 Plains people, 326 Pocahontas, 320–322 Pocahontas, 324 poetry, 83 police, 179, 181 policy, 143–144, 166; language, 231–236; makers, 341–342 political: action, 16; death, of indigenous language, 233–236 pollution, and Seminole land, 328 positionality, 7 postdevelopmentalists, 161–163 post-formalism, 47–48, 236–239 postgraduate program in indigenous research: and Aboriginal Terms of Reference, 150–153; course of study, 146–147; coursework, 147–149; development of, 144–155; philosophical foundations of, 149–150 post-harvest: pests, 271–282; strategies, indigenous, 270 postmodern thought, 158–159 power, 154, 168; and conflict, 67–69; and ethnomathematics, 188; issues, 31–33; and knowledge, 64, 67, 161–163; and progress, 61–62; relations, 18; scientific colonialism, 29–31; transformative, 15–18 practical knowledge, 101 Pradham, P.L., 124 Prakash, Madhu Suri, 157–178, 302 prakriti, 167, 171 PRATEC (Poyecto Andino de Tecnologias Campesinas), 65, 68, 168–170 pregnancy, 249, 254–255 prior knowledge, 120–125 programs: agricultural, 260; Egyptian Ministry of Agriculture

Index Extension education program, 270 282; indigenous research program, 147–149; intervention, 260; management and implementation of, 261– 262; monitoring and evaluation, 262; Serr el Ard, 277; teacher education, 314; television, and agriculture, 277; United Nations Development Programme, (UNDP), 334, 344–359; uses of indigenous knowledge in, 259–262; progress, 61–62, 295–296; and power, 61–62 progression dimension strategy, 308 prose, 83 proverbs, 83–84, 113, 212–213 Punjab, 172–177 Pupil as Scientist, 133 purpose, as educators, 33–34 Putz, M., 234 qualitative action research, 148; see also, action research Quechua, 336 Quiroz, Consuelo, 41, 305–316 Radwan, Samir, 280 rain, 80–81 Rains, Frances V., 317–331 Rampal, A., 129–130 rationality, 44 rats, 271–272 Raum, O.F., 212 reason, 87 reasoning, 133 recycling, 214 reform: curriculum, in Kenya, 229–233; educational, and nutritionists, 243–266; land, 179 Reformation, 169, 171 relationalism, 42–43 relationships, 250, 16 relevancy, 305, 307 religious song texts, 203–204 Rendueles, 66

Index Republic of Congo, 18–19 research, 28–39; and development (R and D), 159; implications for indigenous knowledge in, 265; see also, indigenous research resistance, 20, 62, 67–68, 291; of indigenous knowledge to change, 298; of peasants, 245–246 resources: national and global, 309; use of, 337 Reynar, Rodney, 44–45, 285–304 Richards, P., 245, 288 Ridgley, Anne-Marie, 279 Riley, B.W., 288–289 risks, associated with indigenous knowledge, 263–265; of competition, 265; of “limited scientists,” 264; of specialization, 264; of “transferred indigenous knowledge,” 264–265 Rivera, Julio Valladolid, 65 Robeck, E., 123, 133 rodenticide, 275 rodents, 272; control of, 270–282 Rose, Wendy, 327 Rosebud Sioux Reservation, 20 Roy, Rustum, 171, 177 Rural Advancement Foundation International (RAFI), 334 rural youth, 305 Sachs, Wolfgang, 166–167, 300–301 sacredness of science, 128 samanya, 216 Santa Clara University, 219 school: knowledge, 80; science, 92, 122–123 Schutz, A., 121 science, 157–177; colonial, 25–29; conventional, 81–82, 85–92; deconstruction of, 159; environmental, 163–167, 312–313; history of, 66–67, 123–124; vs. indigenous knowledge systems, 157–159; modern, 123–124;

379 sacredness of, 128; school, 92; subsistence, 163 167; transformative, 44–46; Western, 25–29, 81–92; 157–177; see also, people’s science science education, 119–142; and collateral learning, 119–142 Scientific Revolution, 26, 169 scientists, 341; and sustainable development, 341–342 Scotton, C.M., 234 Seablast, 79–92 self-determination, 339 Semali, Ladislaus M., 1–58, 95–118, 231, 317 sensitization, 262–263 Serr el Ard, 277 shakeree rhythm, 206 Shariff, I.N., 232 Sheng, 237 Shinto, 133 Shiva, Vandana, 289–290 Shor, Ira, 35 Sierra Leone, 245, 339 silo, 273 singers, 195 situated cognition, and role of prior knowledge, 120–125 Smith, John, 321 social: influences, 122; justice, 97; movements, 179–189; texts, 154; transformation, 102 socialism, African, 234 socialization, Aguaruna, 65–66 societal expectations, 127–128 solidarity, 52 Somalia, 240 songs, types of, 200–204 Sotto, Isabel, 183 souma, 273, 275 South Africa, 240 South America, 67–68 South Dakota, 20 South East Asia Regional Institute for Community Education (SEARICE), 334, 344, 351–355 Southern African Development Coordination (SADC), 246

380 South Tahrir, 280 Sovereign Indian Nations, 323; challenges facing, 327–329; and toxic waste firms, 328 specialization, 264 spiritual formation: and intellectual formation, 209–224 spirituality: and music, 198 Stambach, A., 231 Standing Rock Lakota, 321–322 Steinberg, Shirley, 42, 47–48 stereotypes, 321–322 storage, food: granary, 272–273; holes, 272; silo, 273; souma, 273; traditional technologies, 272 273 stories, 97–98, 213, 221; Arabian, 97–98 story telling, 8–13 Street, B., 104 Stringer, Ernie, 41, 48, 53, 143–155 structures, 339 STS (Science, Technology, and Society), 46 student created texts, 239 subjugated knowledge, see indigenous knowledge sub-Saharan Africa, and musical instruments, 197 subsistence science, 163–167; and dahin/lassi paradigm, 171–177; vs. environmental science, 163 167 Sudan, 162 Sullivan County, Tennessee, 13–15 superior truths, 60, 69, 73–74; and colonialism, 60–61, 69; and development, 61–62, 69; and modernity, 60, 69; and progress, 61–62, 69; unveiled, 60–62 sus, 271–272 sustainability: 102, 244–245; and dahin/lassi paradigm, 171–177; and development, 286–295, 341 342; ecological, 164–167; and integrated pest management, 280–281; technological, 164 167 Swaziland, 308 Swift, D., 123

Index syncretization, 68–69 systems of knowledge, 148 Taita, 261 Tanganyika, see Tanzania Tanzania, 7–13, 17–18, 196; and Education for Self-Reliance (ESR), 111–113; and literacy, 95 115; and spiritual and intellectual formation, 209–224 taxation, 184 Taylor, P.C.S., 121 teacher, role of in complex language environment, 236–239 teacher education, 92, 180, 314 Teachers Journal of Ghana, 194 technology, 291; alternative, 260–261; and Japan, 133; for food storage, 272–282 Tennessee, 13–15 territoriality, 335–337 tetrapleura tetraptera, 258 texts: musical, 200–204; social, 154; student created, 239 Tlingit culture, 326 Tobago, 79–92 togetherness, 251 tools of conviviality, 171 totem poles, 326 toxic waste firms, and Sovereign Nations, 328 training, and sensitization, 262–263 transfer of knowledge, in Egyptian oasis, 269, 277–282 transformative power, 15–18 treaties, breaking of, 319 tribal units, 191–193 Trinidad, 79–92 Twi, 192 Uganda, 111, 245 Ultimate Goodness and Meaningfulness, 211 United Nations, 65; and “United Nations Draft Declaration of Indigenous Peoples’ Rights,” 65

Index United Nations Development Programme, (UNDP), 334, 344–359 United States of America, 217, 219 U.S. Government, and elimination of Office of Indian Education, 320 values, 72–74, 212, 293 variety, of foods, 250–251 Viergever, Marcel, 21, 44, 333–359 views of indigenous peoples, 333– 359 violence, 179; and development, 285–286; and Molo ethnic cleansing, 235 vocational education, 305–315; curricula, and local knowledge systems, 307–309; Wangoola, P., 115 Warren, D.M., 245 Watts, D.M., 121 ways of knowing, alternative, 104 ways of seeing, 40–43, 52–53 wealth, 179 “The Welfare Queens in White Coats,” 171, 177 West Africa, and musical instruments, 196–197 West Australia, 143–155 West, C., 154–155

381 Western Desert oases, 270; El Dakhla, 270–282 West Indies, 79–92 Western interventions, into indigenous peoples’ problems, 20–21 Western knowledge, and indigenous knowledge, 67–69 Western science, 25–29; rethinking, 42–46 whiteness, 30–31 Winnemucca, Sarah, 318 World Bank, 102 The World Council of Indigenous Peoples, 40 World Religions and Spirituality, 209 worldview, 40–42, 67, 86–87, 119, 122–127; Chagga, 210–215; duality of, 133 Yeany, R.H., 121 Yoplait, 174 Youth and Adult Education Projects, 180–181 Zahan, Dominique, 213–214, 216 Zaire, 111; see also, Republic of Congo Zambia, 111, 245–246 Zapatista movement, 286 Zimbabwe, 111, 196

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